


Singapore Mei Fun

by DC_Chan



Series: Chinese Food Drabbles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Commander Rogers, Drabble Collection, Dragons, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Husbands, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Mermaids, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Musicians, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Puppies, Stardust - Freeform, Stony - Freeform, Tony Stark: Director of SHIELD, True Love, Villain!Steve Rogers, Young!Tony, alternative universe, cats and dogs, cereal consumption, final fantasy x - Freeform, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Chan/pseuds/DC_Chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles for practice.  Will be Steve/Tony in-nature, written from prompts, AUs, random ideas.  Will be updated when I have the time (aka; when I can).</p><p>Chapter Twenty: Following the Civil War, as coined by the press, Tony does what he's always done: picks up the pieces and tries to fix things.</p><p>Except now he's trying to fix things before a giant space war implodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's in that bag?

**Author's Note:**

> A challenge for me to get writing again. Want to get in some practice before I go back to my in-progress pieces later this month. Mostly Steve/Tony but additional characters/relationships will be added in the future if needed.
> 
> Based off of dialogue prompt:
> 
> "What's in that bag and why are you hiding it here?"

Steve didn’t usually wander the halls of the tower after dark. He liked sleeping. Loved sleeping. In fact, if left alone, he would most likely wake up at eleven every day and then go back to sleep by eight after eating six-thousand calories (in the form of cake, if he had any say in the matter).

Unfortunately, Natasha had discovered this early on in their friendship, resulting in morning runs, scheduled brunches, and other activities that in general were created so she could laugh at his bedhead and patriotic scowl before ten in the morning.

So it was odd for him to be walking towards the kitchen closer to midnight than to noon, but it happened on bad days. A combination of back-to-back missions (Serbia. Why was it always Serbia?), a hospital visit for a crushed hand (Fingers are...not supposed to bend that way.), then a stern talking to from a doctor for trying to hide a broken nose (Blood. All over his shirt. Not subtle.), and Steve Rogers was unfortunately forced to stay awake due to minimal brain damage (A brick wall jumped in front of him when he was running.)

Walking inside the tower, instead of wandering the streets of New York during the sweltering July heat, was the only concession Steve made to the doctor before leaving, which is why he was still awake and not cocooned in his blankets, sleeping and ignoring his three alarms set to various times.

After checking in on Natasha, who had laughed before saying good night and shutting the door in his face, Steve figured he would pass the time by doing something the rest of the world seemed obsessed with: working out and then eating something extremely unhealthy right after.

Having spent a couple hours prior running on the treadmill and kicking a heavy-bag, because hands took longer to heal than a broken nose, Steve deemed himself hungry enough for something delicious. Like a mixing bowl of cereal. A mixing bowl filled with Cap’n Crunch. A cereal sugary enough to give him a buzz. A cereal that fought back by ripping up the roof of his mouth. A cereal worthy of the title “Captain”.

Grinning to himself, because he was hilarious and a national treasure, Steve walked into the community kitchen, taking in the bowl of fruit with a slight grimace of disgust and trying to ignore the tiles that were slightly sticky underfoot.

What he could not ignore was seeing Tony Stark, on his hands and knees, halfway inside of a cabinet.

Distracted for a moment (because that butt was great, wait, what?), Steve only noticed on a second pass that the older man was actually doing something, namely shoving something into the cabinet.

New task in mind, because the billionaire being awake and outside his workshop trumped massive amounts of cereal any day, Steve let his curiosity get the better of him and sauntered over to the quietly swearing man. When a few moments passed, and Steve allowed his eyes to become uncomfortably aware of Tony shifting in, and out, and in, and out, and in, and out of the cabinet, he coughed quietly and casually propped his hip on the counter top.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said, noting how the other man abruptly stopped swaying his hips in time to silent music, “Didn't expect to see you out here, all alone, mysteriously trying to dispose of something under the sink.” Steve turned slightly so he could hop onto the counter, hands bracing on the edge as he leaned over the cabinet door to try and catch a glimpse of the older man, “Possibly a bomb? Maybe a classified design? Hiding from your CEO?”

Tony finally shimmied out from underneath the sink, huffing, and Steve could tell he was tired from the way he swayed slightly and...was pouting. That was definitely a pout. Plus the man looked worse for wear, gaze fixed vacantly under the sink as he kneeled back onto his feet, hands braced on his thighs. Once everything met an invisible order, he sighed and his body listed sideways to rest against Steve’s dangling leg..

“I am not hiding from Pepper. I’m not hiding anything. Just...checking the pipes for leaks.” A crinkle was heard as a plastic bag slumped out, only to be nudged back in by a calloused hand, “Lots of leaks under here, have to hire a different contractor. Maybe get a couple of...couplings and o-rings? Some extra-”

Steve sighed, it was way too late for this, “Tony, what’s in the bag and why are you hiding it here? In the kitchen, under the sink?”

Tony seemed to be weighing pros and cons, squinting up at Steve as if staring into the sun, before a mulish frown slid onto his features. “Just, okay, did you know Bruce never watches TV? Never.” Steve shrugged in agreement; he didn't watch that much television and usually him and Bruce would sit on the couch awkwardly while everyone was actually watching the new series that was better than the last.

“Well, I found out that’s because he hates television. Hates cable! Man only likes watching movies, but not the great movies I have, hell no, he has to watch these weird subtitled monstrosities with the music and dancing and-” Tony took a big breath, seemed to catch himself, “Anyway, I bought him a bunch of movies. A bunch of Bollywood movies. But I don’t know what he likes, or what he’s seen, and did you know there are movies released almost ten-years ago that are still playing in theaters over there? It’s crazy the amount of movies they've made with the same plot of two guys and one girl and…”

Tony groaned, “And I...might have gone overboard?” At Steve’s lifted eyebrow Tony continued, “Did you know around 1000 movies are released in India a year? Twice the amount of Hollywood? Do you know how many DVDs that is? My workshop is full, Jarvis is trying to upload everything to the media server, but it’s slow going, and I know Bruce is going to find this all by tomorrow, and I’m still not 100% sure that he’ll like-”

“Do you want some cereal?”

Tony looked up with wide eyes at the abrupt question, cheek rough against Steve’s jean-clad leg, and gaped for a second before catching himself. “It’s two in the morning?” He asked, still proceeding to stand when Steve pushed off the counter in the direction of the stove.

“Yeah, but I’m hungry, you’re having a crisis over some movies,” a splutter from Tony, “and I know you probably forgot to eat dinner.” Steve reached up to open the cupboard, grabbed the box of cereal, and then moved over two steps to grab the bowl sitting in the washing rack from earlier in the day (it had been filled with a much healthier alternative for breakfast). Placing both items on the table, he turned to grab the milk and turned when he heard a strangled noise from behind.

Tony stared at the bowl in horror, then lifted an eyebrow at Steve, “You do know that this cereal is considered candy in other countries? That the recommended serving size is less than a cup and- and you’re just pouring the whole box in, aren't you?” Tony stated, unable to hide his amusement when Steve came back over with a gallon of milk, ripped open the plastic bag, and dumped the contents into the bright orange bowl.

“Yes,” Steve responded, pouring enough milk into the bowl that the pieces floated on the surface. “And there’s only one spoon. Thor keeps putting them in the garbage disposal.”

Tony slumped in his chair, “I can’t keep buying silverware. I am not wasting my sizable income on replacing flatware.” He eyed the first couple mouthfuls Steve shoved into his mouth, noted the wince when Steve opened his mouth too wide and the skin around his nose pulled painfully.

“Then we’ll share. No harm in that,” Steve grinned, “We’re both grown men. Nothing wrong with swapping some spit.” Steve tried to ignore Tony’s throat when he swallowed. “So,” he scooped up a heaping spoonful, watching the milk drip from the edge and prayed it didn't end up in Tony's beard, “Wanna share?”

Tony’s fingers clasped around Steve’s wrist as he guided the soggy mess of corn starch and sugar to his lips, “Sure thing.”


	2. Mermen mating rituals~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two: Mermaids? Mermen. Manly mermen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "something with mermaids" I mentioned last chapter. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Also, I know nothing about marine animals. Ignore anything that sound too "fishy". (I laughed at that, God).

“Bucky, no, you jerk, Buck, you can’t just-” Steve cut off half way into scolding his friend when a blob of seaweed slapped him in the face.  Peeling off the tenacious weed, he could only watch as his best friend abandoned him to cut across the menagerie of merpeople, only to stop in front of a woman with bright red hair that matched the barbed spines marching down her sides.

“Thems the breaks, Steve-o,”  Sam said, gliding on the current with his flippers, stingray lower body undulating so he could stay stationary next to the dolphin merman.  “You know he missed Natasha last migration and he’s been chomping on fish bones to get here for the past week and a half.  I think he’s going to offer for her to come back with us.”

Steve nodded except he couldn’t stop the baleful expression he shot at Natasha’s pale back, “I know, but he could have at least said good-bye or something.”  He sighed, taking in a deep breath of the water that seemed to taste cleaner yet wrong at the same time.  He hated that the bi-annual migration took him so far from home; having to travel into the Pacific instead of his usual Atlantic grounds.

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Sam drawled, flicking a finger at a shrimp that was clinging to his shoulder, “I’m sure when you meet the perfect match you’ll be twice as insufferable.”

Steve laughed and shoved the darker skinned mer in the shoulder then shooting through the water towards the gathering, “Don’t be a guppy.  I highly doubt when I meet my match that I’ll beach myself like Bucky did when he first saw Nat.”

“Love makes people do weird things,”  Sam replied, speeding up to pass Steve when he caught sight of Sharon glaring meaningfully at him from across a stretch of open ocean, obviously noting the late arrival of the two men, “You’ll figure this out.  You just haven’t met the one.”

Steve scoffed and angled up, allowing his powerful lower half to propel him to the surface so he could jump from the water and relish the feeling of air and space and freedom. Traveling with the migration always grated him, too many mer in one area and he missed the extra salt from home, and he couldn’t wait until the week was over so he could leave this herd and not have to be crushed by expectations.

Lead the pod.

Keep everyone safe.

Find a mate to spend the rest of his life with.

His ‘one’.

It was never going to happen.

\---

It takes five more migrations before Steve finally understands what Sam meant, about finding his perfect match.  There are different faces at this migration, a strong current making it easier for a couple groups to combine in one super pod and make their way west instead of their usual east, and it seems like everyone is pairing up.  Bucky has Natasha, her scorpion fish barbs staking her claim against the newer females who joined the herd.  Sam and Sharon are expecting their first.  Even Bruce, larger than everyone with his sperm whale lower half, has found love with Betty who showed up last migration as a solitary humpback mermaid.

A glimpse of gunmetal grey, with paler stripes of iron crisscrossing, and Steve can’t finish his conversation.  Feels the pull behind his stomach even though he is talking to the Alaskan leader, and barely spits out an apology prior to weaving skillfully through the bodies surrounding him.  Waving at Clint, who seemed overwhelmed by his three children clinging at him, he passed a nearby coral reef and almost swears when he sees nobody.  It could have been a fluke, he thinks, but the ball of panic in his gut tells him that his mate is nearby, he just missed them, that they’re here and they’ll be as happy to see him as he is to see them.

Continuing to swim, physical movement seemed to be the only thing to counter the feeling of sea urchins under his skin, Steve smiled at a couple mer he hasn’t seen in the past couple of migrations, knowing he is failing to hide his grimace when they shoot him back startled glances.  Everything would be fine once he found his mate, he thought, swirling the water surrounding him in irritated motions.

“Pep, Pepper, I can’t.  I don’t want to be here.”  Steve stopped because it’s the voice, it had to be; the voice that he has been waiting all these years for.  

“You know that’s not true, Tony.  You’ve just been tired.  Ever since you were injured…”  A female voice responded and Steve felt his heart stop at the mention of an injury that he didn’t prevent, even though it had already happened.

“It’s not that, and you know it,” The voice snapped, “There’s nothing for me here.  It’s been six years.  Six years, and, tides, I haven’t found them.  Can’t we just go back, they won’t want me anyway.  That's it, I’m leaving.  When you get your head out of sand, I’ll be waiting to go home.”

Before Steve could move to hide better behind the coral, because he technically had been eavesdropping, his ‘one’ finally came into sight and his gills stopped working.

Brown hair a tad too long, waving in the currents, and oddly shaped facial hair that seems to be a pattern mirrored on the tiger shark lower half.  Skin darker than his own, meaning that he probably stayed to the warmer parts of the ocean than Steve’s native section to the North Atlantic.  A huge puckering of scar tissue in the middle of a somewhat narrower chest, Steve swallowed down the nausea from suddenly thinking about what it looked like when it was fresh, but the scar had faded and looked to have healed as well as it could have.

Brown eyes looked up into his and Steve knew this was him, could feel the connection solidifying between him and the mer who would stay with him the rest of his life.

“I’m Tony,” The other mer said, voice lowered in volume and sounding so different from the shouting match overheard only moments ago.

“I’m Steve”

“Tony, you know I didn’t mean-”  The pretty redhead mermaid who appeared from behind the coral, Steve couldn’t remember her name, paused when she saw the two together.  “I, uh, I’ll go get Rhodey, you seem busy,” She said with a slightly panicked looking smile, turning quickly and swimming back towards the herd to leave behind the two mermen who were unconsciously beginning to swim in a well-known counter-clockwise pattern.

Drifting closer, because the purpose of a courtship dance was to make sure that everyone knew exactly what was going on, Steve allowed his hand to drift up and trace the muscles in Tony’s arm, noting the shiver in the smaller male.  A second later he could feel the fin of Tony’s lower half brushing against his flukes, and Steve was so happy he didn’t know what to do.  He knew there was certain steps to be followed, the presenting and the introduction, but his instincts were telling him that Tony didn’t mind their impromptu dance or the glancing touches they kept exchanging back and forth.

As he leaned in to curve tighter around Tony, his chest bumping against the other mer’s shoulder by mistake, Steve was surprised by the open acceptance from the other man when an arm curled protectively around his neck and yanked him closer.  Looking down in surprise, because he had been watching their surroundings to make sure nobody else came to challenge, Steve could only take a quick inhale before his lips were covered.

Teeth nipped at his lips before they parted gently and Steve’s heart sounded too loud in his ears, his tongue swirling around Tony’s, daring the brunet to return the favor.  Which he did, but not before tightening his grasp near Steve’s neck to change the angle, somehow making it deeper than before.  It was so easy to return these affections, to twine his own arms tighter around Tony’s waist, as if they had always belonged there.

Breaking apart was one of the hardest things for Steve, his lips tingling and gills struggling to pull in additional oxygen.  It didn’t help that every time he thought he had calmed down enough, finally getting his heartbeat under control, Tony would dart in to give a small peck on his neck or collarbone.  Like he couldn’t wait for the initial stage of marking to begin.

“Do-do you want to stay with me?”  Steve hadn’t stuttered since he first took over his pod’s leadership, making sure his speech was impeccable and easy to understand.  “You don’t have to, I mean, you could go with your pod, I haven’t even introduced you to my pod, they’re-” Steve stopped babbling when he felt a rough hand clasp his own, the already familiar weight at his neck gone for a second, followed by a gentle tug that pulled him towards the sea floor where everyone else was getting ready to sleep.  He could see Bucky shooting him a look that meant there would be ‘ _talks_ ’ tomorrow, and a dark merman with Pepper seemed to be sizing him up, but he ignored them both to press a kiss to the back of Tony’s scarred knuckles.

Tony dragged him closer once they had gathered bedding materials and created a nest, hand still holding his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the middle of the night by the currents, and smiled crookedly before saying, “There’s no place I’d rather be in the ocean.”  

Brown eyes glowing like they know something he didn’t, Steve was unable to respond as Tony pulled him in for another kiss that left him breathless under the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, feel free to send a prompt. Next chapter should be either Harry Potter related or modern day Army soldier Steve.
> 
> I need to practice writing things from Tony-POV.


	3. Captain America the Army Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a retired soldier. His best friend was Captain America, a random dog he met while in the service that he was unable to bring home. A gift from his husband is not received as well as it could have been.
> 
> tw: animal death, panic-attacks

When Steve met Captain America he was filthy and looked close to starvation.

“He just started following us, sir.” A G.I. mentioned offhand as he scooped his rations into his mouth. “Somewhere a couple days back when we had heavy fire.”

The small puppy wagged its tail eagerly when a spoonful of beans plopped on the ground in front of it. “Of course since you’re new, you haven’t met him.” The same man, without looking from his plate, picked up the decrepit animal by the scruff of its neck and dropped it into the lap of his commanding officer.

“Since you’re both captains, I figure you’ll get along fine.”

As the grimy puppy whimpered on the wide lap, looking at the table and hoping for a couple more scraps, the newly shipped in officer from the Americas couldn’t stop his hand from running through matted fur.

It was love at first sight.

\---

Later on, Captain Steve Rogers discovered that the dog might have been an attack dog if the troops hadn’t allowed it to follow them.

“It’s what usually happens to the animals, sir.” A lieutenant said, sweating from the heat blasting from the sands beneath their boots. He removed his helmet, fiddled with the chinstrap before plopping it back on his shaved head. “The insurgents usually end up training their dogs to attack us when on patrol.

“Often we have to kill the dogs.” A shrug of shoulders adjusted the rifle strapped across the young man’s chest. “Guess we’re just lucky that Captain America was young enough not to be trained yet.”

At the sound of his name, the adolescent dog, now groomed but still looking shabby due to the sand and heat, wagged its tail and leaned against the commanding officer’s leg. Steve allowed a gloved hand to land heavily on the dog’s head and drag through the rough fur. “Then it’s a good thing I came here in time!” He grinned, smiling at the wide mouth grin from the dog.

The dog who had become the friend of everyone in the camp, mascot to the soldiers, and personal friend and bosom buddy of the man who commanded all their lives.

\---

_“Warning! Enemy in area!”_

Jerking himself from bed, ignoring the sand that was blowing through his open tent, Steve strapped on his outer gear and rushed into the hot noon sun. His men were already moving, having been alerted by the calm, yet urgent voice that automatically sounded when an opposition force was within the camp’s battle space.

_“Warning! Enemy in area!”_

“Sir, we need to move out! NOW!” A medic shouted; a gauze pad slapped against a shrapnel wound that spouted blood from his forehead. A man was slung against his back, since all the other stretchers were being used to move the more serious injuries.

“Report!” Steve responded automatically, cramming his camo-patterned helmet over his sweat soaked scalp. He looked down at the dog that used to be a mud-caked puppy that had turned into the strong canine that was barking at the noise and chaos.

“Firefight from the east!” The gauze was turning redder as the man continued, “RPG’s and a tank approaching quickly.” He shifted and a groan came from the injured man.

“Rogers! We’re leaving now!” The visiting major, who seemed struck by the damage and precision of the enemy interrupted the lower rank and moved closer to the other officer. The medic took this opportunity to run towards one of the helicopters that was starting, the blades slowly speeding up and kicking up more sand.

“Yes, sir!” Steve made to grab Captain America, who had run over and was leaning against the person it trusted, huddled from the bullets, noise and death. As his hands dug into the fur he heard the phrase he had been dreading:

“Get rid of the dog! We don’t have time to make a hoist and it’s not a IED scout!”

Steve glanced at the dog again before his handgun was lifted obediently to follow orders as he had been trained to do.

A single shot was what it took to finish the job and run towards the land vehicles that were now under fire.

His issued glare and shatter resistant sunglasses hid the moisture building up in his blue eyes, though the other soldiers might have thought it had to do with the sand. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking as the humvee bumped on a well-used and checked road, looking behind as the camp became smaller and smaller.

Sometimes he wished he had a better way to save those that meant something.

\---

“Steve, I know it’s out of left field, but I wanted to get you something special for our second anniversary, mostly because I remembered it but partially because I love you very, very much.”

Steve laughed, his arm looped around Tony’s shoulders as he followed his husband into their home on the upper east side, “Everything from you is out of left field,” he commented, remembering the whirlwind romance between a retired-vet turned artist and a billionaire who just happened to buy the wrong painting at the right time.

“Now, you have to promise to tell me if you hate it,” Tony said before he pulled the front door closed behind them and led Steve by the arm to the ‘important company’-living room that branched off the first floor, “It was a pain to get him, anything for you, darling, but if you really don’t like him I’ll find someone else to take him.”

Steve pulled them to a stop, “It’s not a prostitute, is it?”

Tony laughed, pinned his husband to the wall and kissed him on the nose, “No, it is not a prostitute, silly man. Though if I knew I could get you one of those, I would have, Mr. Stark-Rogers.”

“It does give me ideas for your birthday in a couple months,” Steve murmured into the proper kiss Tony decided to give him in lieu of a cheeky one-liner.

“Yes, well, yes,” Tony licked his lips as he backed up, tugging on his shirt to straighten the newly acquired wrinkles, “That’s good, but you will not distract me from giving you the best anniversary gift!” He opened the French doors with a flourish and left Steve behind as he hurried into the heavily decorated area, plopping onto the floor with a muted ‘oof’. “Happy anniversary, honey!”

It was simultaneously the best and worst gift Steve had ever received.

Sitting in the middle of the carpet, next to a broadly smiling Tony, was a fat, golden puppy with a large red bow.

The puppy was nothing like Captain America; chubby where the other dog had been stick-thin. Fur thick with a healthy sheen, whereas Captain had always had a bad case of mange due to a crappy, but steady, diet of military rations. Even their expressions were different; the puppy in Tony’s lap looked around the room with an air of happy confusion while Steve could only remember the expression of pain and confusion as he pulled the trigger and-

“-eve? Steve, honey, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Are you okay? Are you here? It’s Friday, June 23rd. You’re back home in New York. You’ve been retired for three years. Steve, I just need you to respond. Do you need your medication? Do you need to talk to Dr. Banner?”

Steve realized he was on the ground the moment Tony’s voice was heard, blindsided by one of the panic attacks that he thought he had under control. He blindly fumbled his hand out, taking in a huge breath when Tony automatically grabbed it, giving the silent okay for his husband to come nearer without fear of being physically injured while Steve was trying to come back to himself. Steve pulled Tony closer, eternally grateful when his husband said nothing and allowed himself to be manhandled so he was lying with Steve on the carpeted floor.

“I, just, there used to be a dog. When I was fighting.” Steve’s throat clicked as he dry-swallowed, turning his head so he could bury his nose into Tony’s hair. “The boys sort of gave him to me as a welcoming gift when I came over. We called him Captain America. Best dog in the world.” He knew the noises near his feet were the puppy exploring the room, but he shied away from looking down his body. “I ki-he didn’t make it back.”

Tony snuggled closer, his body a band of warmth against Steve’s side, and his other arm came up to cross Steve’s chest in a loose embrace. “We don’t have to keep him,” he said into Steve’s neck, “If it’s too hard for you, I can send him back to the breeder and she can find another owner for him. I just wanted to make you happy. You know that’s all I want, right?”

Steve nodded and bussed a kiss against Tony’s hairline. “I know, and I love you for that.” Steve stiffened when he felt the puppy sniffing at his uncovered ankle, so similar to how Captain America would lick his sock-covered feet to wake him up.

“I want to try, honey,” Steve said, finally looking down at the wriggly puppy that was now inspecting a nearby table, “I want to try for both of us. I want to keep his memory alive. I want to give this guy the life that Captain could have never had. The life that I should have given him…”

“You want to name him Captain America?” Tony asked quietly, craning his head back so he could make sure his husband was really okay with this.

Steve barked out a hoarse laugh, which made the puppy give a yip in reply, and hugged Tony closer. “We can call him ‘Cap’ for short,” he said, not fighting the tears that trickled past his cheeks to the floor.

They continued to lay on the floor for a couple more minutes before Tony sighed into Steve’s ear, “I’ll be living with a pair of captains. I’m a pretty lucky guy.”

Steve shakily smiled at the ceiling, “I’m the lucky one. I love you, Tony.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, feel free to send a prompt. I need to start making these shorter if I want to keep up this 24-hour turnaround. D:
> 
> Next time: Mistaken identities or Star Trek AU.


	4. Mistaken Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistaken identities. Tony is just minding his business when big, blond and beautiful decides to join him at his table and act like they are best friends.
> 
> They are not best friends, Tony has never met him in his life, and instead of telling him he decides to meet him again tomorrow.

When Pepper asks later how it all started, Tony will respond with the truth:

He had been minding his business, eating a croissant, when Steve decided Tony was his best friend.

\---

Tony didn’t dislike business meetings, not matter what anyone else would tell you. He just liked it when they were spaced out, multiple meetings over a couple days instead of six meetings in one day dragging on from eight in the morning to seven at night followed by a corporate dinner. It’s why he he was so prone to forgetting to show up, resulting in Pepper wanting to kill him, and then a meeting would need to be rescheduled for another day.

It was on one of these bouts of forgetfulness that he somehow found himself in a cafe, picking apart a croissant with his fingers and ignoring the multiple ‘pings’ on his tablet that meant he was receiving emails. The cafe was a cozy little place, as cozy as it could be in the Financial District, and he seemed to be the only person deciding to settle in and enjoy his coffee instead of running towards making millions. Tony was one of the few fortunate enough to make millions by sitting on his butt and eating a bread-product.

After the seventh email alert in less than a minute, and half his piece of croissant had been turned into a small hill of crumbs, Tony was jolted out of his fantasy of buying an island to run away to by a large hand clamping warmly onto his shoulder.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d be here today.”

He turned, expecting it to be one of his business partners discovering him skipping out on the meeting, but instead it was a well-built blond who was smiling down at him. Before Tony could ask who this man was he had already slipped into the chair across from him, the latte that had been in his hands now on the table along with a battered-looking journal. He stared at Tony like he was an old friend who he had happened to run into, his blue eyes tracing every feature with a certain fondness.

“Um, well, I was in the neighborhood?” Tony answered, hurriedly scraping his crumbs into his empty cardboard cup to clean the table up a little. “You know how it is, work and all, makes my schedule a little crazy?” Tony said, waiting for the other person to realize they had the wrong person and leave after apologizing.

Instead, Blondie grinned and ducked his head slightly, “You’ve said that numerous times, but this is the first time I’ve actually been able to catch you outside. Are you busy? Can we chat a while?”

Tony responded with a quick, “Sure”, before he could stop himself, his mouth unconsciously answering when his mind drew a blank. Maybe he met this guy at a charity event? He obviously hadn't slept with him, a shame, but he would have remembered those-oh god, he flexed and those biceps had to be bigger than Tony’s head.

“Was just wondering how you’ve been? You haven’t emailed me lately and you’ve been avoiding me on the server as well.” The man took a sip of his latte and Tony did not stare as the tip of a tongue swiped out to erase the foam mustache, “I just miss hanging out with you. Skyping about stuff going on at work. I was just lucky that I remembered you worked around here in the city, and you mentioned this place. Figured I would try my luck during second period break. Just happened to find you and your red Starkpad here.”

The man squinted down at Tony’s footwear, converse that were picked to match the referenced red tablet, a fond smile tracing his lips as his eyes traced slowly up Tony’s suit-clad body. “Of course, I didn’t think you would look like this. You always struck me as thinner...maybe not as corporate? You made it seem like as a recruiter that you didn’t have to wear suits too much?”

Shit, shit, shit. This guy obviously thought that he was somebody else and he should tell him right now before he got too deep- “You’re a lot taller and a lot more buff than I imagined.” -what. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? THAT IS THE WORST ATTEMPT AT DEFLECTION I’VE EVER HEARD, That was not a smart move, Tony, not a smart move. Stop looking at his lips when he smiles, Pepper is going to kill you, you are definitely going to miss your 10:30 at this rate.

Blondie laughed, leaned back in his chair so Tony would have a great view of his throat, and almost fell over when he couldn’t balance on the back two legs of his chair. Slamming it back down to earth, and shooting a guilty look at the barista who was glaring, the man gave a much quieter chuckle and rubbed away a little tear. “You were surprised? Really? I mean, you know I’m ex-military, just like you? It’s why we both did so well in the co-op game.”

Tony chuckled nervously, glancing at his watch to check how late he was, and just happened to see the name “Steeve” written on the guy’s drink. “Ah, well, there were a couple of guys shorter than me who enlisted. I figured you could have been one of them.” Fuuuuuuuck. Now he was blatantly lying at the guy who thought he was someone else, and Tony was beginning to really wish he was the guy who this guy thought he was if it meant he could keep getting those smiles.

“Uh...Steve?” Shit, hopefully that was the guy’s name and the barista didn’t fuck it up writing it on the cup. When the guy didn’t look confused or enraged, Tony took it as a plus and continued, “I’ve got to get going. Have a couple meetings to get to before the days up.” He tapped helpfully on his watch, grinning to hold back the truth that was threatening to spill from behind his teeth.

Steve, who had been taking a sip of his drink, gave a soft cough and placed the cup down quickly, wiping his hand on his jeans that were a tad too-tight. “Ah, yeah, yeah, sorry to keep you. I guess I can try to see you tomorrow?” He asked, watching as Tony gathered up his croissant-filled coffee cup in one hand and his tablet in the other.

Tony looked down at the larger man, taking in the bag that said he was probably a teacher, and the small, hopeful, smile pointed in his direction. He should just tell him the truth, that he wasn’t Steve’s buddy from online who played co-ops with him and was some sort of military recruiter who worked nearby. That he was really Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries who had skipped out on three meetings with people who could own small countries, to have a conversation with the blond.

Instead he replied with a, “Sure, Steve, see you tomorrow.”

Was answered with a, “Same time, same place, Jim?”

And Tony nodded with a grin before he walked back into the bustle of the Financial District.

Pepper was going to _kill him_ when she found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...I kinda want to expand on this one, since I felt it was a little rushed, but I need to keep working on prompts. Maybe in the future?
> 
> Next chapter: I'll figure something out. Maybe at the beach tomorrow?


	5. Pacific Rim AU/Jaeger Championship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief history into the life of billionaire turned Jaeger pilot Tony Stark and his co-pilot Jim Rhodes, and how they will be competing for a spot on the Olympic Jaeger competition team. That is, if Stark can keep himself from getting disqualified by punching fellow pilot Rogers in the face before the Summer Olympics.
> 
> (My idea of what life will be like for society after the defeat of the Kaiju).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, not as much Steve/Tony in this chapter. More of a world-building/history chapter about Tony that will result in Steve/Tony if I expand on this prompt/verse. Sorry! D:

Tony is seven when he Drifts for the first time.

Howard had laughed, hooking up his son to a Pon as the pilot handled his own headset, thinking nothing would happen. Tony didn’t have shocking memories, was only a child and his thoughts would most likely scatter like birds after a stone was thrown at them. In fact, Howard was using this as a test for the pilot, to see if he could form a link with a flighty, unstable, neural path.

Michael Holst was the perfect candidate for the child to cut his teeth on, a seasoned pilot and a strong hopeful to join SI’s Jaeger Arena Team. Never brought anything with him into the Drift, and would most likely help Tony link for an instant before gently dropping him out.

Two minutes later, and Tony has a sync of 102.4% with the simulator and is blankly staring into space; chasing a rabbit that isn’t his. Sitting less than three feet away, Michael Holst violently seizes and bites through his tongue while Howard shouts for an ambulance. The snap of the connection ending brings Tony back, retching, in the hospital, while the older pilot is hooked up to life support in the next bed over

The doctors say it’s because Tony was connected to the left hemisphere of the simulation Jaeger program, that Holst was overwhelmed with numbers and the aggressiveness of the technical side of the child’s brain. That it’s not Tony’s fault. That it has happened before, with the much older research engineers for the larger and thus more temperamental, Jaegers and their pilots. Usually, the intensity of one side of the brain would have been caught before being forced to Drift with another person, they sternly said to Howard.

Nevertheless, five days later Tony is transferred to a private school halfway across the country, but it takes another week for the phantom link to dissolve completely, taking away the echoes of a life he’d never lived.

Michael Holst remains in New York at Saint Vincent’s for the Permanently Damaged and Infirm, vacantly staring at the wall and smiling at the warmth of the sun’s rays.

At the age of fourteen, Tony accepts MIT’s offer to attend the following semester, more excited to get away from his parents and see the college-level Jaeger games than the actual college experience. He’s hoping to get his hands on one of the smaller models, made for speed and agility and barely topping out at 125 feet, but knows those have been faulty and are barely out of testing. He’ll most likely be killed when the pilots ‘accidentally’ step on him, Obie says jokingly to Howard.

That’s where he meets Jim Rhodes. Rhodey. Graham cracker. Snuggle bug. Better than engineering, cheap gin, and outsmarting tenured professors.

Rhodey is the co-pilot of MIT’s university-level Jaeger Cardinal Beaver (a hilarious name, but on the school has stuck to for the past twenty-years), and he is Tony’s first best friend. Rhodey doesn’t care that Tony is Howard Stark’s son, richer than God from the developments after the K-War, or that he has the social tendencies of an eight year old boy on a sugar high. Rhodey likes Tony for his atrocious table manners and his lack of sleeping habits. He enjoys when Tony goes on spiels, complaining about the Jaeger Championship hopefuls (‘Venti Cappuccino? That West Coast team that barely squeaked by in the semis? They’ll be crushed, Rhodey! Crushed!), to the new technology being used to clone ‘humanized’ Kaiju (they had named the first Kaiju clone ‘Dolly’. It had died much quicker than the original sheep.), to slurred rants about his doctorate program and how he was going to finish it in three years (‘Then we can graduate together, honey bunch!’)

Tony never realized he was missing something until he met Rhodey.

And, unlike most college friendships, they stayed friends after they graduated and parted ways. Tony to take over Stark Industries from his radiation-ridden father (too much work on older Mark-Ones; not enough protection and medication), and Rhodey to join the US Military Rangers-Flight Division (a ten year minimum stint working with blowhards and flight-capable Jaeger units that still exploded every other liftoff).

Tony is twenty-five when he Drifts for the second time and it’s like coming home. Rhodey is there, and he’s everywhere but not-everywhere at the same time, and they just fit together like the two pieces of a fifth-grader’s friendship necklace. It’s how they know to balance each other out, how to move to cover blinds spots without even thinking about it and they just do it. No asking.

They don’t have to worry about chasing rabbits because any memory worth chasing, worth getting lost in, be it good or bad, fades to the background because the person who made it worthwhile is already there in the Drift. Tony can finally understand why the pilots always waxed so poetically about finding someone who was ‘Drift Compatible”, because Rhodey is the person for him. Rhodey is his co-pilot and Tony is his.

Tony’s also bleeding out from the shrapnel in his chest, splattering his half of the cockpit when they are hit with a vigorous right hook, but that’s besides the point.

\---

_‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the beginning of the live-telecast series of the North American Jaeger Finals! I’m your host, Peter Parker, and I’m ready to wow you with our lineup for this year’s competition!_

_‘As well all know, the games are held as part of the Summer Olympic Trials, with semi-trials held throughout the four years. The top three finishers will then represent Team USA! A great opportunity for a great couple of Jaeger pilots! And here to help me with the introductions are past gold winners, for the past three Olympics, the infamous Jaeger team Mac n’ Cheese! How have things been for you two, now that you’re retired and training your own competition team?’_

**‘Parker, it’s good to be here. Why don’t you tell Parker it’s good to be here, Cheese?’**

‘Shut up, Nick. You promised no nicknames on-air. Or do I need to bring up that time we were flooded in the Peconic Bay and you asked me to call-’

_‘Now gentlemen, gentlemen! Technically since you are no longer piloting the modified Mark-Seven Good Eye, there shouldn’t be any reason for arguing! How about we bring the public up to speed on some of our players we will see competing in the next couple of months for a coveted Olympic spot?’_

**‘Fine, fine, I’ll take over since Phil obviously has his panties in a knot. We’ve got eight good teams coming up this year, each with a good base to work off of. One of the up-and-coming pairs is the Captain America/Red Falcon combo, piloting a newly revamped Mark-Five. They’ve had a couple stop-go moments at the start, but they really started showing their colors in the victory against Ant Man and Wasp last December. Really giving themselves a name now.’**

_‘Now, not to get off topic, but I hear Rogers has been having a little trouble since his last co-pilot was injured during the last semi-finals? How is Barnes doing?’_

**‘Bastard’s fine, lost his arm, but he’s still alive for all the good that does him. Can’t operate the neural link missing a limb, which really hurt Rogers finding another co-pilot, but he’s been on the sidelines helping out as their head mechanic. Man knows that rig inside and out. Really helped out when Wilson finally got on board.’**

_‘Thanks for that update, Nick-uh, er, Mr. Fury, sir. Looks like we are running out of time, we’ll have to go over more teams in future netcasts. Just a couple more questions; is there any match you want in particular to see? One that you, as trained Jaeger pilots, are really looking forward to?’_

‘Should I say it, Nick?’

**‘Go for it Cheese, I’m actually interested in seeing who you’re rooting for. Not Hawkeye and Widow, since we both know since we’re personally training that wreck they’re sure to win’**

_‘Now, now, gentlemen, do I need to remind you about the arguing on-air again?’_

‘Alright Parker, since you asked so nicely. If I had to watch any of these semi-finals, any of these, I would tune in for any match involving Stark and Rhodes. Those two have really tightened up since the last Olympics, where we had to compete side-by-side for the group and singles. If it wasn’t for that judge call, and that cheapshot by Russia, Stark and Rhodes would have been on that podium along with us for that event, to give us a gold-silver win.’

_‘Interesting insight, thanks Mr. Coulson. Okay, last question before we have to wrap this up; how do you think the winners will respond to the aggressive post-semi, pre-Olympic training? If I recall correctly, this involved close quarters and a lot of cross-Drifting? Do you see any teams in particular having trouble with this if-’_

**‘Stark and Rogers.’**

_‘Oh, oh! That was a quick answer Mr. Fury. Care to back it up?’_

**‘I’ve never seen two pilots as stubborn as those motherfuckers in my life.’**

_‘Ah, please keep the cursing to a minimum if possible, Mr. Fury. This is a public broadcast. Feel free to curse in the un-edited version we’ll be recording later.’_

**‘Fine, fine, if they both place in these rounds, and need to train with each other, they’ll be lucky if they get past the initial layer. Rhodes and Wilson would have no problem, great men, but their partners….Jesus, they’ll end up killing each other in the Drift out of spite.’**

_‘Ha ha ha, well, that’s an interesting insight. And with that the first netcast is completed! Make sure to tune in for next week when the simulcast will start with the first match; Danvers and Drew versus Pym and Van Dyne!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun! I like this verse. Might work on it more.
> 
> Def think I am going to throw something with the mistaken identity or mermaids out next time. Unless I am inspired by something before I post!


	6. De-aged Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De-aged fic; Tony is de-aged by Loki and the Avengers discover that Tony, though rambunctious and loud while an adult, is everything but when he is small. Steve makes it his responsibility to change this, because it's never too late for a happy childhood.

Steve glanced over at Bruce as the older man ran another hand over the small body sitting on the medical bed, noting the slight frown pulling at features that are usually smiling indulgently at the other Avengers. He followed the concerned glance down to the brunet boy who was occupying himself by kicking idly at empty space with his unshod feet. After a moment the boy stopped as if he felt the two stares aimed at him, hunching his shoulders and pulling his legs onto the crinkly medical paper covering to make himself smaller.

“Is something wrong?” Steve asked, making sure to keep his voice lowered as to not alert the boy-Tony, he was still Tony, that they were talking about him. His efforts were unfounded when the boy curled up into a smaller ball, crinkling the paper underneath him further. “Thor said that he was okay, that he wasn’t injured, that it was just a stupid joke from Loki, that-” 

“Ah, it’s nothing serious, just noticing something,” Bruce said, cutting off Steve before he could work himself into a frenzy, his hand making as if to reach for the extremely quiet boy, pausing momentarily. “Just...Tony is so tactile when he’s older, but when he’s young...he isn’t seeking out attention. I mean, he’s not adverse to it, doesn’t cringe from it, but for a kid his age...it’s unnerving.” Bruce’s hand completed it’s journey, tangling itself into the loose curls covering Tony’s head and the boy tilted his head to allow the access, eyes still trained on the floor while chewing on his lower lip.

“I mean, it’s a minor case of neglect, if I had to name it. Kids thrive on touch, working their way up from building blocks and stuffed animals to hugging and being carried by family members,” Bruce sighed, leaning back on a nearby table and withdrawing his hand from Tony’s hair. “Steve, kids have been known to die from lack of human contact. They need it to get by socially and physically.”

Steve looked over at Tony, who hadn’t moved since Bruce moved away from the examination table, and took in the small toes and the hair that was just on the wrong side of too long. Tried to fit it with his teammate that was always grabbing someone to go on an adventure, or boisterously declaring they would solve the world energy crisis in less than five years. “Are you sure, Bruce? I mean, it’s not serious, right? He gets better when he gets older? Jeeze, Bruce, I mean, we don’t even know how old he is?”

Shuffling from the paper crinkling drew both pairs of eyes on the boy, who had furrowed his brow and was staring at Steve with a determined expression. “Four,” he said, dragging the word out from behind a pout before shifting his eyes to the ground again. “Four, sir,” he mumbled suddenly, cringing slightly even though neither man had moved. “‘m sorry, I forgot, sorry, sir.” Small fists clenched into the fabric of the medical scrubs he was wearing, only relaxing when Steve gently started rubbing circles on the small back, unable to resist some form of comfort.

“Tony, that’s okay, it’s no problem,” Bruce reassured, shooting a mildly alarmed look at Steve before he crouched so he could look up at the boy instead of down. “I’m just letting you know that we’re going to take care of you for a while. Your...parents are away and we’re in charge of watching you. Is that okay?” 

“Mom told me not to talk to strangers…” The boy said carefully, fidgeting and jostling free Steve’s hand so he could push himself to his knees on the bed, “And daddy says that Stark Industries doesn’t ne-ne-negotiate with kidnappers.” He looked at the sole adults in the room with wide, brown eyes, and continued unperturbed at their horrified expressions, “Daddy has a tracker that can find me, so you’re only gonna get in trouble if you keep me.”

Steve sighed, took in Bruce’s poleaxed expression, and smoothly stepped forward so he was in front of the kneeling boy. “Tony, we’re your friends. Part of a team of superheroes,” The boy looked unimpressed, actually shifting away so he was further from the two. Steve hastily continued before Tony backed himself into the corner, “The doctor is named Bruce Banner, and I’m Steve Rogers, we’re the-”

“You’re Captain America!” Tony blurted, the first animation seen from the boy since he’d been transformed, bouncing on his heels only to fall forward onto his hands, “Daddy told me about you! You had a plane, and a shield, and you fought the Nazis! Daddy said that you’re a good guy and the best!” Tony pushed himself up, cheeks flushed and he swiped a hand through his hair, yanking at a knot that became caught in his fingers.

He promptly froze when neither adult said anything, only to gasp in glee when Steve stepped forward to sweep him into a bear hug to lift him up.

“Yup, Tony, I’m Captain America. You’re really smart, you know that?” Steve propped Tony on his hip with a hand under his butt, looking down at the boy before shooting a look at Bruce. The doctor nodded at his computer, gesturing to the blood work, then jerked his chin at the door leading to the kitchen. Giving permission for Steve to move Tony someplace less ‘medical bay’ and more ‘feed the kid’, hopefully letting Bruce figure out how they could change Tony back. “I think you might be the smartest four-year old I ever met.”

“Nu uh.” Tony rubbed his head into Steve’s shoulder, avoiding eye contact again, but shooting little glances at the pictures and rooms they passed as Steve walked down the hallway. “Daddy says I have a lot to learn, and mom says I’m not learning piano fast enough.” The boy stopped abruptly, as if he had said something wrong, and stayed quiet even when Steve asked mundane questions about his favorite color or hobbies.

“There has to be something you’re really good at,” Steve prodded as they entered the kitchen, mentally sighing in relief when he didn’t see Clint, Thor, or Natasha hanging around the kitchen table; not knowing how this newly shy and cautious Tony would react to the larger than life god and sneaky assassin. He knew Tony would have clammed up with Clint, who seemed to be too loud at the wrong moments. “There has to be something you like doing, that nobody can do better than you, Tony.”

Steve expected Tony to say something about circuit boards, or building things. He didn’t expect the small boy to look up at him, hand fisted tightly in his shirt, and respond with, “Peanut butter sandwiches. I’m really good at making peanut butter sandwiches.”

When Steve didn’t automatically respond, the boy’s smile shrunk and he butted his head into Steve’s armpit as if to hide. “Sorry, it’s dumb, sorry. I can do other stuff, like math and I can spell really good too. I don’t like doing it, but mom says I can be better at it so I hafta practice a lot.”

“Tony, do you want to make a peanut butter sandwich with me? If you’re really, really good at it, you’ll be sure to help Captain America make the best peanut butter sandwich, right?” Steve asked, setting the boy on the counter as he reached up into the cabinet to grab a plate and the peanut butter. 

Tony looked up at Steve with awe, his eyes swallowing his face and his bare feet pressed against the lower cabinet drawer, “Really? You’ll let me help?”

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the part of his brain that said he shouldn’t be meddling with tiny Tony like this, before forcing another bright smile. “Of course, Tony. I’d do anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi. Okay. These might turn into 48hr turnaround instead of 24hr. I'm dying trying to do this with work.
> 
> Next time; mistaken identity (II), college AU, or villain!Tony?


	7. Villain!Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villain!Steve; what if HYDRA got their hands on Steve and trained him in a manner similar to Bucky and Natasha? What if Bucky is found by the Avengers, but not Steve, and takes up the mantle of Captain America in memory of his friend? What if Steve is released on an unsuspecting world after a HYDRA training compound is raided, unaware of how long he's been asleep, but develops an unhealthy obsession with the man inside the bright robot suit?
> 
> What if he decides he wants Iron Man for himself, by any means necessary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I know everyone voted for Mistaken Identity (II)...but I totally didn't realize this until later tonight when I came back from work. ...So I accidentally villain!Steve.
> 
> Also, where did all these readers come from?

Thirty-some odd years after Captain America said his last goodbyes and aimed his aircraft into the sea, Soviet submarine K-219 discovered a unique item on a standard nuclear deterrent patrol in the Northern Atlantic. The large block of ice, containing a body and a shield, was quickly and quietly transferred to Department X, where the large, blond man was discovered to still be alive.

Classified as The American, he is forgotten by the crew members of the submarine and those that ask questions of his whereabouts aren’t heard from again.

\---

The training the American goes under weakens over time, the scientists assume it has something to do with his advanced healing pushing out the implants, but his rapid healing also makes him easy to be utilized as a mobile target for enemies when needed and the Black Widow never has to hold back when they spar. It is noted in the research that his susceptibility to following orders rapidly deteriorates when he is working with particular assassins, namely the one obtained at an earlier date who is kept in cryostasis near constantly.

He is no longer assigned joint missions with the operative named Winter Soldier.

Twelve days later and everyone in the training compound is killed by the blunt edge of the American’s famous weapon when the American discovers this, excepting Winter Soldier and Black Widow who were off-compound.

The American is kept separate from the remaining operatives and his trademark weapon after that, not in stasis, but heavily drugged underground only to be roused when his ruthlessness is needed in the field.

\---

It’s too bright.

There are voices, explosions, hands scrambling against his arms, and the ice entering his veins is abruptly cut off allowing him to feel his fingers and toes.

“ _Американский!! Американский, пистолет, кофе, бабочка, океан!_ ” Is yelled into his ear, causing his eyes to snap open even though he’s been asleep for much longer than previously. The scientist who yelled the jumbled imprint protocol phrase at him is bleeding on his pants, her hands stained red as they tried to push her stomach back into her torso. “ _Вы должны-Вы должны…_ ” Unable to finish the command before succumbing to her wounds, the large blond sitting on the metal slab of a table stared dispassionately down at the body for a moment prior to pushing it onto the floor in a heap.

The head snapped up at the sound of movement on the other side of the barred and sealed door, training telling him to obtain information and report, to stand up and prepare to fight. His eyes scanned the room, small with multiple points of defense. Grabbing the handgun nearby the scientist, then shoving her cooling body closer to the door as a partial-barricade, the large man crouched in the middle of the room, staring straight at the door in preparation with a nearby table turned on its side to protect his weaker left. Not the best defense, but he wanted to take out as many as possible once the door was breached.

A muffled shout of, “They’re in here! Hawkeye, report, we’ve found an additional hold!”, echoed against the bare walls and he smothered the shiver of anticipation, waiting for the enemy to show themselves. He was only brought out of stasis when the times became desperate, he thought while brushing away the ghosts of a stoic brunet and a woman masquerading as a ballerina from his mind. A temporary distraction, he chanted the phrase given to him by his past handlers, a temporary distraction, keep your head in the game, neutralize and recoup.

Blue eyes snapped back into focus on the door when it rattled, buckling under something on the other side only to crunch inwards to reveal a man wearing the USA flag as an outfit and a woman with fire hair.

“We’ve got a hostile, repeat, we have a hostile,” the man said, hand pressed to his ear, circular shield with an eye-catching bulls-eye pattern held in front of his body to catch the round of bullets aimed at him.

Without waiting for a response, assuming it to be confrontational and along the lines of a bullet through the head, he pushed his way through the two, shooting the woman in the thigh when she didn’t move quick enough out of the way, and sprinted down the hallway. The crash of something being thrown followed him, along with the scream, “Iron Man, stop him, Goddammit, stop him!” bouncing off the walls chased him.

He skidded to a stop when he entered a new room, broken glass cutting into his feet, and dodged when an arrow came out of nowhere to embed itself in his shoulder instead of his neck. He broke off the shaft, made of some type of heavy duty metal he noted in the back of his mind, and slammed into the wall to give himself support to aim his gun at the window nearby. Shooting a couple rounds at the glass to prep it, he threw himself out the building and ignored the flag-clad man who was now in the room reaching for him without a weapon in his hand.

Then he was free-falling and seeing the building from the outside while his body automatically braced itself, preparing for the agony of broken bones and dislocation located at the bottom of his fall.

Only to stop jarringly before impact by something wrapping around him, something humanoid in shape but made of metal and humming quietly, and it’s so bright and light and everything opposite of what he’d seen for so many years that he can feel himself relaxing. Allows the wind to blow over his face and he enjoys the feeling of weightlessness as he flew.

Except it’s lifting him up, back up to the man leaning out the window yelling, being held back by the red-haired woman and the man with short blond hair who had injured him with an archaic weapon.

The flair of panic causes his programming to kick in, which tells him to remove himself from the situation, and he doesn’t think twice before lifting the handgun, ripping off a panel of the robot’s shoulder, and emptying the last of his round into the joint to loosen its grip around his legs. The robot falters, dropping tens of feet, before shakily regaining altitude. The blond doesn’t think as he shoves his hand into the gap, pulling out wiring and biting through connections that can’t be removed with his mangled hands.

He is abruptly dropped and he stifled the grunt of pain when he landed on the ground next to the robot, feeling his shoulder pop out of its socket. Pushing off the ground, he looked down at the robot, debating if he should take it for parts or to his reassigned handler, and he almost bites through his tongue when the robot’s face retracted to show a pale-faced man looking at him in a mixture of pain and fear. Without thinking he leaned down to knock the man out, ( _why didn’t he kill him? he is bright, his mind whispers, you like the brightness-_ ), and kicked the sluggishly bleeding shoulder before about-facing and fleeing into the surrounding woods, knowing distance and time is his best friend until the drugs are flushed from his system and he can locate another training compound to debrief.

He wonders how long he was asleep this time, when he will be allowed to counterattack, and if the man inside of the bright suit will be present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistaken identity, part II, will be posted either tomorrow or within 48hours. 
> 
> WHAT WILL TONY DO? HE IS NOT JIM, BUT HE WANTS TO BE IF IT MEANS HE CAN TALK TO STEVE AND SHARE A CUPCAKE WITH HIM.


	8. Mistaken Identities (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Mistaken Identity Prompt: Tony meets Steve again, and again, and the blond still hasn't been informed of the inconvenience that Tony is not his friend Jim.
> 
> Also, we find out if Steve knows that Tony is not Jim or if something else is afoot?

Later in the day, as Pepper is wrangling Tony into a tie for a charity event, tutting at the state of his goatee, she asks him where he was that caused him to miss two meetings and a call-in.

He lies and says he was at a Starbucks and lost track of time running from the paparazzi.

\---

He doesn’t mean to go back to the cafe. Wait, scratch that, he really wants to go back to the cafe but he knows he shouldn’t. That he should keep his distance from this man who thinks he is another man. That maybe he should try and actually be a good CEO and pay attention to his stock prices than assuming everyone loves Tony Stark and his inventions that ranged from cell phones that never dropped a call to sleeping bags that folded up smaller than a laptop.

Which is why he is a little confused the next day when his feet take him from the prototype lab a quarter to ten, walk him outside for three blocks, and he is suddenly sitting at the same table. It’s almost a repeat of yesterday, only his black coffee is in a porcelain glass and a pair of biscotti are sitting on a plate.

When ten passes, and it’s almost ten-fifteen, Tony shrugged back the feeling of betrayal. Technically, literally, he had only met the man once and Tony wasn’t even the person Steve was supposed to meet. No skin off his nose, he thought while picking up one of the pastries dipped in chocolate. He swirled it around in the coffee for a moment, just to soften it so he wouldn’t break his teeth, and stuck half of it in his mouth while staring down at his tablet. He might as well make it a productive break so the board will leave him alone for the rest of the week.

“Ahhh, um, hey, Jim?”

Tony turned to the left and took in the man who was awkwardly shifting with his own cup of coffee in hand, his fingers paused over the touchscreen. He sucked on the pastry to get rid of the excess coffee and bit off the end, dropping it on his plate and brushing off his fingers on the napkin. This was the perfect time to explain who he was, that he wasn’t Jim, that he had lied. That he was a lying liar who lied.

“Oh, hey, Steve, what’s going on? I was waiting for you, thought you weren’t showing up. Busy at work?” Tony was nothing but an idiot who loved digging his multiple graves deeper.

After a brief moment of silence from Steve, Tony was too busy sucking on his index finger to remove a distracting smudge of chocolate, the other man took his seat (when did it become _his_ seat?) and they idly talked about a new movie that opened and how it didn’t live up to the book. When Steve took the other biscotti before leaving, grinning and turning left instead of following Tony right, he left behind the promise to see each other later.

All in all, it was pretty great day.

Tony was screwed.

\---

This third time Tony meets Steve as Jim he’s late due to an unexpected crisis at one of the new developments, mostly due to the sudden toluene contamination found at ten-feet below surface level where the foundation was going to be placed. Very messy, very smelly, and it was going to cost a lot of money to fix. So he was less than his best when he glanced through the cafe windows before entering to find Steve staring sadly down at an open notebook, empty cup in front of him, and making movements like he was about to leave.

Steve stood just as Tony pushed open the door, hefting his bag over his shoulder, but paused when he saw the other man.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Tony gushed, stepping over to grab the cup of coffee a barista had poured for him, “I got caught up in...recruiting stuff and lost track of the time.” He nodded thanks when another person behind the counter handed him a delicate looking cupcake, dark brown with a green-tinted frosting on top sprinkled with chocolate chips. Someone here definitely knew he was Tony Stark, and thus knew of his love affair with anything chocolate.

“Oh, I thought you forgot...” Steve gave a small smile, sitting back down and dropping his bag on the ground near his feet. “It seems like everyone around here is running around with only one thing on their mind, caring more about making a quick buck than talking to people.” He looked out at the street at the people quickly walking, dressed in pressed suits with cell phones attached to their heads, and the smile slid off his face, “Kinda makes you sad thinking about all the great things they're missing right around them, too busy making millions I guess?"

Tony gave a shaky smile as he balanced the coffee and cupcake, covering the clatter of the dishware on the table with a little cough. “Well, it’s not all bad around here, I mean, we’re both working here, right?” Oh god, oh god, did Jim actually work here full-time or what? Tony couldn’t remember if Jim was a recruiter full-time or when he was back from Afghanistan? Did Jim even fight across the sea? This was all going to blow up in his-

“I guess so,” Steve shrugged, tracing his finger around the rim of his empty cup, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He frowned sullenly out the window, his chiseled features highlighted by the interior lighting and the sunlight coming from the other side.

Tony wished he could be Jim just so he could stare at Steve when he became all righteous-y and “Captain American”-like. As if he could fix the issues of everyone by just guilt-tripping them into being nice to each other.

“Anyway, I was wondering when you were going to log-in for a game? I mean, obviously you’re back from overseas and...alive? I miss having my war machine tank to take everyone out behind me so I can run recklessly forward to the loot.” Steve teased, hooking his finger under the cupcake plate to pull it more towards the center, grinning when Tony seamlessly traded the fork when the blond held his hand out. “It’s not the same without you.”

And Tony just wanted to tell Steve everything. Let him know about his inventions (explaining the difference between a tablet and a netbook), take him to all the strange places he just knew Steve would enjoy (Steve loved art, even though he was ex-Army). Possibly buy one of every pastry in New York if it would make Steve as happy as he seemed right now, poking the cupcake with a look of fierce determination. Maybe see if Steve was okay with Tony liking him way more than appropriately after only three coffees.

Most of all, he wanted to tell Steve who he really was: Not Jim, not Steve’s friend, but Tony Stark: the man who lied to make a friend because it was the only way he knew how.

Instead he nodded his head and stuck his finger in the frosting to grab a large dollop and pop it in his mouth to savor the mint-flavor. “I’ve been really busy with work. I’ll try to get on later in the week when it clears up. Man, I don’t know how those business-guys do it."

\---

“Hey, it’s me, how are you?”

Steve shoved the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he pushed his laptop into his satchel. “Yeah, yeah?” He waved at one of his students who was also leaving later in the day, probably held back by after school activities. “That sounds...fun? I guess, if you’re into torturing yourself with- What? No, he’s not a creep.

“Listen, Buck, I think you’re being ridiculous. I’ve met him. He’s...nice.” Steve stumbled, thinking of thick eyelashes and a quick tongue chasing crumbs off plush lips and- “I mean, you’re the one who asked him to meet you.” Steve walked outside and towards the subway staircase, trying to chase away thoughts of what Jim was doing, if he was drinking a cup of coffee sitting behind a recruiting desk helping kids join the Army. For some reason Steve was having trouble placing the charismatic man in the good suits there; Jim seemed like the type of man who would have more fun leading a board meeting or building things, always moving.

He frowned at the accusatory tone that bled from the speakers, shaking himself from scattered daydreams of Jim pulling his long silk tie off with a flirty wink. As if that would ever happen.

“Yes, of course it’s him. He had the red Starkpad-thing you told me about?” Steve waited for his friend to doubtfully confirm on the other side, “ I mean, you told me they were a limited run of only a thousand across the world. I highly doubt there would be a totally random stranger at the cafe you told Jim to go to, at the exact time you told him to meet you there, with the red Starkpad that almost nobody has?”

“I just think you should come meet him in person. I mean, he was there when I couldn’t be, too busy getting my Masters and trying to find a job. You know you wouldn’t have the same range of motion in your hand if you didn’t play that stupid shooting game with him.”

Steve sighed, starting down the stairs to the subway that would take him back to Queens. “I’m only doing this for you. I really don’t want to keep up the charade; someone is going to get hurt.” Steve knew it was going to be him once Bucky manned up and finally met Jim like he was supposed to from the beginning. They had a much longer history, and he knew Bucky had a mini-crush on the man he had spent multiple hours online shooting down other players while recovering from a shrapnel wound.

The sad fact was that there was really no hope of Jim picking Steve over Bucky if given the choice.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Getting on the subway now. I’ll talk to you later, Bucky. You are coming next time we meet. I’ll see you at the end of the line.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! This will probably be continued, I guess?
> 
> Also, switching to 48-hour turnaround on these stories. Also, I think it's going to go "new prompt"/"continue previous prompt", every other chapter. So next chapter will be something new, and then the one after that will be a continuation of something I wrote before (mermaids/bby!Tony/villain!Steve/etc.). Just a heads up.
> 
> Also, as per usual, if you want to read something, suggest it! If I don't hear anything; something with hockey? :D


	9. Villain!Steve (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Villain!Steve Prompt: Bucky Barnes is sure that the HYDRA operative they saw last time was his long-lost friend Steve Rogers, the original Captain America. Tony is doubtful and pretty sure they're going to end up killed.
> 
> Meanwhile, Steve decides HYDRA needs a new leader. A leader who understands their ideals and what needs to be done to take over the world. Namely...him.

“Listen, Barnes, I don’t care if he is your friend. Thanks to him, my rotator cuff is bruised and I can’t do anything for the next couple weeks,” Tony said, gesturing aggressively at the arm in a sling, “I was just lucky that the armor held up against the fucking HYDRA-weapon-thing being offloaded by that super-freak.”

James “Bucky” Barnes, still wearing the recently revived Captain America field suit, slammed his hands on the conference room table before snarling, “He’s not a super-freak, or HYDRA, he’s Steve! He’s supposed to be dead!” A crack had formed where an enhanced metal arm had impacted, spidering over the surface. “He’s not HYDRA!”

“Listen, I don’t know if you have some wires crossed from your whole ‘assassin stint’, or it’s something to do with your cryostasis thawing out only half your brain,” Tony ignored the dark look Natasha sent him, “but when someone is shooting at us after we find them in a HYDRA base, they’re HYDRA. Stop trying to defend this guy who almost took out our entire team without trying!” Tony spat, wincing when he tried to shrug. “We’re going to have to take him out next time, or at least arrest him.”

“He’s Captain America!” Bucky yelled over Tony’s last words, tugging at the reinforced red, white, and blue that spanned his chest, “The real Captain American! He’s Steve Rogers! He not some HYDRA lackey, he’s not a killer, he’s just Steve Rogers and he is Captain America!’

“Fine, fine, the random guy who attacked us was Steve Rogers, sure, I’ll believe you with no concrete evidence,” Tony sighed, grimacing at the feeling of grease and gunpowder residue that had somehow entered the Iron Man armor to cling to his neck and face. He glanced at the chairs that should have held his remaining teammates, but Thor and Clint were busy containing Bruce, who still hadn’t changed back after the mission, so Tony was stuck debriefing instead of sulking off into his tower.

“Though the man you discovered did bear a striking resemblance to one Steve Rogers, believed dead, I hate to admit that Stark does have a valid point: There is no way to prove the man is who you believe him to be,” Fury explained at the head of the table, grinding his teeth when Bucky looked as if he were about to argue over his commanding officer, “So until that time, we have to assume that the man who was inside the complex, the lone escapee and survivor, is HYDRA until proven not.”

“He’s not HYDRA, and I’ll prove it,” Bucky said, pushing back from the table to stand and glare at everyone present, “I’m going to find him and bring him back. Steve’ll remember me, he always does, and then you’ll see how wrong you were about him being Captain America..” He swung around and stomped out the room, slamming the door open dramatically with Natasha quietly following two steps behind.

Tony snorted at Bucky’s retreating back, “If he’s HYDRA, I’m sure he’ll be coming after us within a week.”

\--- 

“Ah, American. You’ve finally returned to the downy wings of HYDRA. I thought you were put out of commission. Believed you lost your usefulness, what with being drugged up all the time like an alley whore.” Brock Rumlow leaned back in his chair, eyes slowly crawling up the body of the huge blond standing at military ease in front of him, noting the way the biceps bulged even without being flexed. “Figured you would come back to us like the dog you are. You probably don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

The man in front of him didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink at the harsh language being thrown in his direction. Didn’t even shift his weight when Brock stood and walked closer to stab a pointer finger into a chest you could smash a bottle on. Brock was not used to having no reaction. He was head of HYDRA, picked specifically by the Red Skull to continue his work, people listened to him and cowered.

Except for this stupid relic from a bygone age.

“Well? Say something, American! Tell me how worthless you are,” Brock spat into a lax face, frustrated how the soldier did _nothing_ , “How you failed your mission already! How you couldn’t take down a single Avenger, even though you had the element of surprise and knew the building better than them. Couldn’t even kill Iron Man who, you literally clung to like a woman.”

Rumlow grinned when those blue eyes finally turned towards him, ignoring the primal shiver that went up his spine at the dull, reptilian, gaze less than five inches from his own. “Ah, yes, the great golden Avenger. Simply a man inside a suit of flying armor. You could have pulled him out; shelled him like a lobster. Normal people are nothing to you, I’ve read.

“But, no. Instead you clung to that bucket of bolts like a teenager being fucked for the first time,” Brock hissed into the American’s ear, pausing when he heard a stiff exhale from the other man. “Don’t like that? Being told you were about to get fucked by a man? And not just any man, it’s that shit eating womanizer: Tony. Fucking. Stark.”

Brock relished the spittle that landed on fair skin, “You’re lucky I’m even keeping you awake after how badly you screwed the bitch raw. Who knows? I might grow tired of your failures and plug you back into that drug-cocktail, maybe change the dosage so you stay-”

A startled wet gargle was all Rumlow was able to express before a large hand clamped over his mouth to cut off any additional sounds that might spew forth, uncaring of the pink froth that was dribbling from lax lips. The other hand, buried wrist deep into a chest, searched until it found what it was looking for, reaching under a rib and pushing past a lung to grab onto the rapidly thumping heart. Pulling his hand closer, and the lower half of Rumlow as well, the American stared dispassionately down at the man writhing against his chest

“Director, Director,” Steve said gently, almost kindly, as he shifted, which resulted in a new cascade of blood spurting from the cracked open chest cavity. “I do not think you understand how to give constructive criticism to those under your command. You should mix in the good with the bad, point out what was done incorrectly and then explain how it should have been completed by the operative.

“Let’s use today as an example,” He continued, ignoring the rapidly weakening fists that battered against his hips and side, “You called me into your office to explain, in explicit detail, how I did not complete my mission. You do not realize that I have a mission that is being completed perfectly right now. A very personal mission. You just are not privy to it,” he said, ignoring the hot, cloying, liquid that was coating his legs.

“It is fortunate for you that you are graciously stepping down from your position to allow me to fully utilize our organization’s resources. That you realized that perhaps you were not strong enough in your leadership skills to lead us to our promised victory,” He smiled down at the dulling eyes, giving one last twist of his wrist that pulled out the lower half of the right ventricle. “I’m sure Herr Schmidt would be pleased such a competent person was stepping in.”

The American stepped back, satisfied at the faint whistling sound that followed the removal of his hand, and lazily gazed down at the crumpled body of his once-superior. Brock Rumlow had served his purpose, revealing how HYDRA had fallen from its glory in the past decades and how it now required a firmer hand to guide it to its golden age. A hand that was used to destroying enemies close and not requiring the impersonal use of a gun or clandestine techniques that had a high-probability of failure.

HYDRA was lucky the American had returned to take control.

“Director Romlow has had an unfortunate accident.” The blond said to the uniformed guard stationed outside the door, gesturing to the pulp-like body bleeding out on the thin industrial carpeting behind him when the other man paled at his appearance.

“Prior to his sudden but inevitable demise, he promoted me to his position to further the vision of our leaders past.” The image of a red skull flashed briefly, along with a burst of pain, but it was pushed to the back of his mind. “Very unfortunate that I must take on the mantle so quickly, but it is often the case in our field of work,” he grinned ruefully, as if the entire situation amused him and it was nothing more than a happy inconvenience.

“Y-yes, sir. It is very unfortunate, sir.” The uniformed man cautiously stepped over the door jam, wide eyes darting around the room to try and discover why such a power struggle occurred. “Should I send out a general alert to our outposts, Director, explaining the transfer?”

“Ah, yes, that would be greatly appreciated. Also, please don’t call me Director.” The American smiled at the full-body flinch when he spoke and wondered if the smaller man thought he was going to attack him. He was not insane or mentally unstable; he wasn’t going to start attacking random strangers or operatives out of the blue.

The American had been trained since the beginning to fix things, to make things run as smooth as possible for those he worked with, by either acting as live bait or destroying platoons that would make the mission difficult. It was his purpose in HYDRA; had been for the past forty years.

It was just unlucky for Brock Rumlow that he was considered “damaging” to HYDRA’s efforts towards world domination and thus needed to be removed.

“We are a military operation. We always have been,” He mused, nodding when the man placed his rifle onto the table so he could snap on a pair of nitrile gloves from his utility belt. “It was the way HYDRA had been run in the past. It seems the ideal has...diverted slightly in my absence. I will now be leading HYDRA to a new level of superiority not known to our enemies.”

The American shrugged against the feel of wrongness that settled across his shoulders at his words, brushing it off as the strong drugs still circulating throughout his bloodstream, “In the meantime,” The blond paused as a name floated up from a foggy part of his brain, “In the meantime, address me as Commander Rogers. Make sure to let the others know before the end of day close, or you will be punished,” he stated, turning into the hallway and leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. A shower seemed like the perfect way to celebrate.

Later, as he sat down at the polished desk inside a room that smelled strongly of bleach, the man pulled the keyboard closer. He had a name for the man who rescued him, the one in the robotic suit. Plucking at the keys, he let his mind wander as he searched for information pertaining to Tony Stark.

He would like to thank him personally if possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah...I'm still not sure if I like this chapter or not? As in, I didn't want Steve to be an actual villain...but now he is?
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Anyway, will be posting another chapter Sunday or Monday night (depending on how much work I finish this weekend). As always, leave a prompt or I'll pick a random one out of my brain. I def need to start writing shorter fills. D:


	10. Stardust?AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> StardustAU - Steve wishes to find a falling star to give to his beloved, though not girlfriend, Peggy. A witch informs him of a falling star and instead of finding a piece of shiny rock, like expected, he instead finds a goatee'd man and Bucky won't stop making fun of him for poorly worded-wishes.
> 
> A bastardization of fairy tales and the movie Stardust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was late! Skipped a couple days! I'll try to add another chapter tomorrow, once work calms down and DEC gives us approval.
> 
> This is really, really, loosely based on the Stardust movie. If I continue it, this will sorta turn into a fairy tale mashup.

“Bring me a shooting star next year,” Peggy had laughed, slapping Steve on the shoulder as the young man leaned against her on her birthday. “That would be the best gift a suitor could bring me for my birthday.”

And though he was sure Peggy was kidding, she had been leading him on ever since they kissed by mistake almost a year ago, Steve wished and hoped he would one day be able to find that fallen star for her.

\---

“Have you seen a star...I, I was sure that it fell somewhere over here.” Steve asked the man who was sitting on the ground, looking around to maybe see a broken branch or bush that might show where the rock had fallen. He had seen it over The Wall and, against the advice of Bucky who was still grumbling ten minutes back in a nearby village, had followed it in an attempt to show Peggy what she really meant to him. Granted, he hadn’t felt anything for Peggy more than a strong friendship, but wasn’t that what marriage was? A strong friendship that slowly grew into love?

“Yeah, yeah, sure, the star fell right here.” The man gestured around himself angrily, goatee bristling, patting at his silverish-blue suit before glaring up at Steve, “You must think you’re really funny? A real comedian!” The man pushed himself on his feet, wobbling to stand on one leg and only putting the slightest of pressure on his other with a wince.

“Wait, what?” Steve asked as he rushed over the help the other man, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “No, I’m not a comedian, but we’re in the crater? That means it has to be somewhere around here…?” He looked over his shoulder at the huge divot in the ground before turning to the brunet who was mumbling next to him, “Did you see it?”

The brunet looked at Steve for a moment, eyes unnaturally bright in the moonlight, before snorting out a laugh in the general area of Steve’s neck, “Seriously? Are you seriously that stupid?”

Steve was baffled, the star should be right here! He had asked a witch for the prediction, and she had gleefully informed him of a ‘bright form landing in the woods, for him to find and him alone’ along with a sly smile quickly hidden by red hair and matching lips. “No, there has to be a star here! I promised Peggy I would bring her a fallen star, and Clint swore up and down that Nacarat Natasha would be the only witch willing to help!”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly lying-”

Bucky stumbled through the bushes then, grumbling about crones and kisses for glass flowers, before looking up at Steve. “Did you get the-oh, nevermind. Seems like you didn’t need my help to find him. You dragged me out of bed for nothing, Steve.”

Steve blinked, stared at the man clinging to him, then back to his childhood friend. “No.” The mounting horror was only fueled when the brunet, who still hadn’t introduced himself, shrugged up at the sky and rolled his eyes. He couldn’t-it-there hadn’t been a star on the ground since the Shining Queen, bless her heart, had returned to the heavens with her beloved over two-hundred years ago. He couldn’t be-there was no way this man, who was now whistling under his breath, could be a-

“Yeah, he’s definitely a star,” Bucky said, walking closer and looking the man, who was now glowing in a smug-way, up and down. “Steve, the first star that actually falls in the last couple centuries, and of course you promised to bring it to Pegs. You’re an idiot.”

As Steve was gaping at his friend, snapping his mouth shut to glare when the star- _the star_ \- chuckled and squeezed his cheek between fingers that were just a touch too cold.

“So, you said something about being a gift for someone? Can’t wait to meet the lucky girl.” The goatee scratched against Steve’s neck in an irritating way as he moved closer, dropping all his weight on Steve’s side, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the journey back to the town. And then the subsequent journey back to home, where Peggy would not doubt find this all hilarious.

Stars were supposed to be beautiful, ethereal beings.

Steve looked out of the corner of his eye where this star was sticking his tongue out at Bucky, who was mirroring him.

Of course he’d get saddled with the one star that seemed like it was an ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to put something up tomorrow; either a new AU or the continuation of something from previous chapters! :D
> 
> As always, feel free to comment if you have any other AUs you'd like me to try out. XD


	11. Tony & Ty's Videotape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds a video, is ecstatic, and forces everyone to watch it over a slow weekend. Unfortunately, it shows a side of Tony Stark that no-one expected from the billionaire-turned teammate. More specifically, his Ty-side.
> 
> Nobody knows who this mysterious man is, and they don't want to pry deeper after seeing the evidence, but Steve is the only one determined to find out if this 'Ty' person is still involved in Tony's life. For reasons. Definitely not 'secretly wanting to kiss Tony'-reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the span of a week I:
> 
> Got a boyfriend (?)  
> Got a new project ($6mil?)  
> Got a gym membership
> 
> As a result I:
> 
> Got no sleep  
> Got no fun  
> Got no writing
> 
> Sorry this was so late and I didn't post for a while! Hope you liked this 'getting back into the groove of things' chapter (it might not be that great, lol, I tried something different).

\---

 

It started on a Saturday.

It was a random, unaccounted for weekend in which there were no emergencies, no super villains, and definitely no charity balls. A perfect time for the Avengers to relax, sprawl in the living room and catch up on the television they missed, and story lines that had been completed in series they had been following. In the case of one Tony Stark, this actually meant he no longer had a readily available excuse to avoid Pepper, and was instead spending this reprieve in LA with a certain redhead breathing down his neck. Thus leaving the rest of the Avengers to twiddle their thumbs alone at the Tower, possibly to catch up on paperwork (Steve) or fix their manicures (Natasha and Thor).

Then Clint found the video cassette.

He had been digging around in the media library, grumbling about wanting to see “Men in Tights”, when his hand landed on a case that was much bigger than the DVD and Blu-Rays. Shoved far in the back, hidden from the light of day, he pulled out something that was barely used even in third-world countries nowadays. Clint felt his eyebrows slowly crawl into his hairline as his mind processed what was in his hand.

An honest to god videotape in the home of Tony Stark.

Cackling, which quickly alerted everyone that he had found ‘ _pure gold_ ’, he crab-walked over to the entertainment center clutching his prize close to his body. "Guys, guys, we need to watch this," he announced, popping the tape into the slightly dusty VHS-player that was only there because Tony never threw technology out if he might be able to use it, even if just for parts.

“What is it?” Bruce asked mildly, glancing up from his curled up position on the love seat, “Please tell me it’s not one of those stupid ‘ _Jackass_ ’ movies.”

“No, no, even better! It’s a video tape!” Clint stated proudly while staring at the screen, where a symbol was blinking in the corner showing that the tape was readable and was playing.

Natasha gave a small huff, “And this is more interesting that Mel Brooks because…?”

“Think about it? Why would Tony keep around an old tape? He could have just uploaded it to JARVIS? That means it has to be something good! Like his first dance recital, or an interview gone bad,” Clint explained to his clueless teammates, continuing when they didn’t look impressed, “Or maybe it’s his first sex tape? He has six or seven kicking around, maybe this is one where he doesn’t look perfect, with his stupid models and sweaty face and-”

“My god, Clint, I thought you had more respect than that.” Natasha said, smirking a little at the blond sitting on the floor, back to everyone as he stared intensely at the grey-tinted screen. “I’m sure if you asked Tony nicely, he would have welcomed you on his casting couch.”

“Ugh. One: Disgusting. Two: If I even swung that way, I’m sure I could get someone better than Tony Stark.” Clint said, ignoring Steve’s snicker accompanied by Thor’s booming laugh. Natasha simply rolled her eyes while Bruce looked a little confused, as if he wanted to defend his friend being sexy, but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“Anyway, come on, guys! Get excited! A video tape! That Tony Stark kept!”

When there was only a faint buzzing from behind him on the blank television, which was playing the cassette, Clint slumped slightly in defeat. Obviously it was a blank tape, left behind from the stone age to collect dust. Not because Tony had kept it for secret reasons, but more likely he forgot about it during spring cleaning.

“Maybe there’s nothing on it?” Steve asked, still not understanding really what just happened, but content to watch the team, _his_ team, relax in anyway possible. “Is it possible to have blank-”

A throaty laugh filled the living room from the empty screen, cutting off Steve abruptly and causing Clint to partially-choke on his tongue in surprise due to being so close. Even Natasha paused in painting her nails, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to analyze the noise, a small wrinkle scrunching her nose when she placed it. "Was that Tony?"

Bruce frowned, staring at the television that still wasn’t showing any change in view aside from a few waves of static near the base, "Guys, now that we know it’s not blank, we should probably put it back. Even if it was shoved to the back, it is Tony’s, and he probably had it there for a reason.”

Clint sighed, but even he knew Bruce was right, and he reached up to press the eject button when the screen suddenly came to light in a burst of white and noise.

“No, no, I am not spending my first Saturday off in _forever_ reading classic literature!” Another laugh, this time louder, and suddenly Tony was on the screen grinning in vivid technicolor. His hair was shorter, cropped close in the back with a wispy bang dragging against his forehead. The smile he shot the camera was fond but it quickly turned flirtatious when he looked out from underneath his eyelashes, ignoring the other people wandering in the park. The MIT shirt on his chest distorted slightly when he stretched on the blanket spread on the ground to grab at a dog-eared paperback.

As he moved, an unseen force pulled at his pants and caused the much, much, younger billionaire to squawk when they yanked down enough to show the top of printed boxers. “You know, I can leave right now and get back to doing real work, snot face!”

Clint snorted, leaning back onto a cushion placed on the floor, settling in for the long haul of embarrassing home movies of his non-present teammate when nobody continued their objections. “Obviously Stark’s insults got better with time.”

He was promptly shushed by Thor who was watching the screen like it was one of the soap operas he had become addicted to last week.

“Come on, please,” a decidedly male voice asked, followed by a pale hand and arm coming into the screen to thread through the black bangs, shocking everyone in the room at the fond gesture. “You promised.”

The younger Tony sighed, relenting enough to lean into the hand with a soft smile that no one could recall ever seeing before, "Sure, sure, I know. I promised,” He cleared his throat, closing his eyes, and he looked so young that Steve felt his hands clench in a unbidden thought of himself at that age.

Then Tony suddenly bellowed, " _Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!_ ", which caused the assembled Avengers to flinch at the speakers' sudden change in volume. A faint, crude yell came from offscreen and Tony's face tinted red as he realized other people had heard him. The camera shook slightly as the person holding it had less luck holding in a muffled snort at his antics.

"Tony-" A laugh and the camera angle dropped to show a pair of sneakers and faded jeans, "I mean, _Marc Antony_. You do know I need to record Iago's soliloquy? I am not going to fail this class because you can't be assed to remember the right thing."

"Fine, fine. I don't know why you waited until your junior year to take Shakespeare 101. Usually you're so smart." The camera lifted again to show past Tony licking his thumb to flick through a couple pages, ignoring the camera as he settled in more comfortably on his stomach, "I'm obviously only using you for your body at this rate."

The camera suddenly dropped on the ground and the view tilted crazily as a larger body came into the frame, sprawling on top of the boy who would be Iron Man. Half the screen was black, most likely buried in the blanket, but it was still able to capture the top half of the two boys and the pale hand traveling up the shaking sides of one Tony Stark as he twisted his body and bit his lip to suppress a laugh.

"You know, there are worse things you could say about me."

" _I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him!_ " Tony continued reading the wrong soliloquy earnestly, the open book slapping weakly against a bulky shoulder in protest as he squirmed away from the hand plastered against his bare stomach.

"You were praising me pretty loudly last night." The voice was muffled and barely heard, the face of its owner facing away from the microphone piece on the camera and crammed into a throat.

"Oh, Caesar, back from the dead without even a call! You are a horrible flirt!" A glimpse of Tony's other hand as it entered the frame, running up the broad teen's back before disappearing again when it reversed direction. "If you asked, I'm sure Marc Antony could fit you in his schedule." A beat, "Among other things."

Tony gave a wet gasp as something happened outside the frame, "Caesar, Caesar, so fresh!" The book smacked firmly against the shoulder once last time before being tossed haphazardly away, giving a perfect view of his young face breaking into another smile.

"I feel like we’re getting off track,” the voice of the larger blond said breathily, lifting up his head to give the camera the full-view of puffy red lips, “You were supposed to help me study Shakespeare, not be a distraction like you always are, Tony.” He gazed down fondly at the billionaire who had an arm linked around his neck, holding him close, “You’re going to get me into trouble.”

The bigger teen kissed his way up to Tony's wrist from the nearby arm, the snick of a watch clasp sounding a moment before the timepiece slid down towards Tony’s elbow. The soft sound of a kiss pressed to the pulse point echoed through the room from the high definition speakers.

" _My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar…_ " Tony took a shaky breath, seeming to have forgotten the video-recorder slumped on the ground nearby, " _And I must pause till it come back to me…_ "

"Always with Caesar?" The blond let his head fall until their foreheads brushed, hair tangling together. A buzzing noise came from the television as it struggled to convey the white noise recorded by the 20th century technology.

"No. Always with you, Ty." Tony's hand intertwined tightly with the fingers of the other, his eyes glancing over to the camera to look at it quickly before returning to the blond's, "Nothing's gonna break us apart, Ty, I swe-"

Abruptly, there was a burst of static and a commercial from the early 90's blared into life advertising a movie involving guns, evil guys and sexy women. Clint fell backwards, having slowly inched forward with each intimate second and being steamrolled by the sudden noise. Bruce and Natasha shared a wary glance, promising not to tell Tony about what they saw when he returned from LA. Thor sat back with a sigh, as if empowered by seeing his teammate at a younger time when he wasn’t so weary and only had to think of love.

Steve wondered who this Ty was, and what made him so special to make Tony smile that way.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is continued, it would be more of a vein of Steve trying to figure out who Ty is/if he is still in Tony's life. Possibility of Ty actually being around Tony? To tell the truth, I don't know, but I wanted to set down a foundation of Tony/Ty to be used later on in a story where Ty isn't just introduced as "the ex of Tony Stark who totally beat him and/or touched him weird".
> 
> Hahahahaha, hopefully I can post my college!AU tomorrow. Thanks everyone who read! :D


	12. College!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College!AU: Steve is a professor who decides he needs help. Mechanical help. Robotic help. Help to build something his art student's keep bugging him about, so they'll finally shut up about it before finals week and actually concentrate on their assigned work
> 
> Where else should he look for engineering help than in the Engineering Department?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College!AU! Except...I think I messed up? College AUs are supposed to be about the students, and not the teachers...but then I slipped and this happened.
> 
> Oh well. Enjoy!

\---

Steve walked through the darkened hallways, hoping to God he wasn’t going to get killed and stuffed into a broom closet, and wondered silently to himself why the heavy engineering building was...so scary. The art building had basements. Hell, they were used for the sculpture classes, both ceramic and metal, and they didn’t appear so...gloomy and menacing. For Gods sake, it was a Tuesday morning, Steve should not be getting ‘you might get killed and won’t make classes for the rest of the week’-vibes from a school building.

Having followed the directions Carol had scribbled on the back of an old exam (‘Go in the back door that’s propped open with a brick, down the stairs without the handrail (there are three, ignore the others, do not go upstairs!), then just follow the loudest noise’), Steve really felt like he was walking into one of those B-list horror films Bucky kept making him watch. They watched it for the costuming and making fun of the effects for the stagecraft class given in the Spring, but the effects that seemed so cheesy on the television seemed unnervingly real here in the basement. Coupled with the banging that echoed off of walls that would look better suited to a correctional institution, Steve was not feeling very hopeful about exiting the building. Or at least exiting the building without screaming and with all his limbs.

The hammering became louder as he moved down the hallway, overlapped with music that was somehow loud enough to compete with it, so Steve assumed that he was getting closer. To death or the help that he so sorely needed, he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe he should have told Sam that he was traveling into uncharted territory and to put together a search party to find him if he didn’t come back in time to turn his sculpture in the kiln in two hours.

He really should have gotten a coffee from the Union before he came down here.

Steve’s footsteps quickened when he noticed the open door that was brightly lit in closer to the other end of the hall. Finally, he could pop in, ask his question, hopefully get a good answer, and then return back to the Art Building to get to his intro painting class. Hopefully with time to spare so he could check in on Bucky and make sure he didn’t kill the freshman from the class before.

He entered the doorway of the only open room in the hallway, everything else was locked with a card key, and sighed in relief when he saw someone welding among the scraps of metal, a welding curtain and protective leather hiding most of the body’s motions except for the blatant bobbing of a head to the music’s beat. This was why he came so far, across campus, to find someone who could help him figure out exactly what it was his student's kept pestering him about. Maybe he could convince the other instructor to give a joint presentation during his wood/metal/construction sculpture class after he helped him?

“Dr. Stark?” Steve said loudly into the cavernous room, trying not to startle the man who was being showered in sparks as the arc of the weld burned brightly against a delicately curved piece of steel. “Dr. Stark, I was hoping to ask you,” he stopped to sigh, aware that this might not even be the professor he was looking for. Moving deeper into the workshop, Steve couldn’t help but stare at the small collection of robots whirling in circles on top of a desk, corralled by a couple of pens that had been rubber-banded together. He gently prodded one of the robots that seemed a little more advanced that was attempting to crawl over the barricade, biting his lip to hide his laugh when it grunted at him after it fell over.

After making sure the robot revolution was contained, Steve had added a second barrier in the ways of scattered tacks on the other side of the pen-walls, he walked closer to the person who was still welding. Steve hoped it was Dr. Stark, the newest professor to join the university. Rumored to have over seven PhD's in multiple fields, ranging from chemistry to materials engineering to electrical engineering to underwater basket weaving, Dr. Stark was sure to be the only person on campus who could help Steve with the mechanical problem he was having with his student's request.

He just needed to get the man’s attention.

Walking up the the orange-tinted screen that protected the area from debris and harming un-shielded eyes, Steve stood in the blaring music until the head jerked up suddenly. The arc from the weld abruptly shut off with a pop and the music quickly did the same with an invisible-to-Steve cue.

“Dr. Stark? My name is Steve Rogers, I was hoping-”

“What?”

Steve was expecting an older man, possibly with a receding hairline, a protruding belly, and grim features to match the rest of the engineering professors he had passed in the dining hall, or seen exalted on the university’s website.

So he was surprised when the welding helmet visor flipped up to reveal an unwrinkled face with soot smeared across one cheek and eyes glowing with the fever of someone who had drank way too much coffee on an empty stomach. He was baffled for a moment as the young man stared at him in confusion, taking in his appearance obviously from the way his eyes darted around before pushing back one of the screens and walking out of the welding area.

When he didn’t say anything, Steve stepped closer, mouth open prepared to repeat his opening piece only to be cut off by-

“Add/Drop was two days ago.”

“Wait, what? I mean, yes, I know that, but-”

“I can’t sign permission slips for late class registration. You’d have to talk to the department head to get into the ‘Robots, AI, and Advancement’-lecture.” A hand was shoved under an armpit to remove the heavy leather glove while the man brushed past Steve, who was suddenly uncertain if this was the man he was supposed to be talking to. Certainly Dr. Stark had to be more distinguished, sitting behind a desk or supervising graduate students in a lab instead of toiling in the basement creating a metallic Frankenstein’s monster.

“You _are_ Dr. Stark, right?” Steve asked dubiously, picking up the other glove that had fallen on the ground and placing it on a small sliver of open counter top nearby.

The other man paused in removing the scorch-marked jacket, which gaped open to reveal a dirty wife beater under a pair of leather overalls, and frowned over at Steve. “Who wants to know? Is it Pepper? Shit, I was so sure I submitted the course schedule for next semester. She can’t get on my case, I had Parker look it over in exchange for me marking up his thesis, I swear-” The helmet was jerked off and placed on top of a stack of textbooks, a dirty hand running through sweaty hair that was starting to curl from the dampness.

“No, no, I’m Steve Rogers. I work in the art department. I wasn’t sure that you were Dr. Stark since Carol-”

“First off, call me Tony. Nobody calls me Dr. Stark, not even my students. Second, you look like you could be one of my students,” Tony squinted at Steve, closing one of his eyes as if it made his vision sharper, “Except buff, and not as pale, or Chinese. All right, forget that, not one of my students, you look like one of those contracted student athletes that come in for the football team that I'm sure Thor imports illegally. Lastly, why didn’t you mention Carol in the first place!”

Steve shrugged, his artist’s eyes instinctively drawn to sinewy muscles that were revealed as Tony shucked off the rest of his protective equipment, stepping out of heavy boots and his pants to reveal a pair of tight dark jeans and white socks covering bare feet. “Carol said I should come see you to see if you could help me with a problem I’ve been having.”

Tony sat down on a nearby chair, pulling a pair of neon-blue converses closer from underneath the desk, and snuck a side glance at Steve who had wandered closer once all the leather had disappeared. “Shit, she knows how to get me. I love problems, thrive off them, but why didn’t you just email? Would have been faster instead of walking all the way across campus.”

Steve smiled a the man who was frowning down at the shoe that wasn’t going on correctly, remembering the way the engineering dean had laughed the afternoon before while explaining. “Carol told me I would have a better chance bribing you with coffee. But since it’s almost noon, and I know afternoon classes don’t start until one-twenty...do you want to grab lunch and I’ll tell you more about my problem?

Tony grinned, tightening his shoelaces and giving a slap to his pants to get rid of any metal slivers, “I’m probably blowing off my department’s weekly meeting, but it’ll be worth it if we can get a burrito from the SAC.”

“You’ll like it,” Steve started to explain, following Tony as the other professor turned off the lights and led the way down the hallway that didn’t seem so creepy, “It involves multiple type of materials, making it all stick together without falling apart, and then making it mobile.”

“So, you’re building a smart robot that can paint or something artsy?”

Steve laughed as they exited into the sunlight, already knowing this was going to be a great cross-department partnership, “No, no. My advanced sculpture class wants to make a twenty-foot tall ketchupbot that works.”

Tony seemed speechless before breaking into a wide grin, slapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder and frightening students who were passing, “I’m sure it has a deep meaning, probably commenting on the excess of society?”

“No idea.  They just won't stop going on and on about it after they saw something similar at an exhibit in Brooklyn.  I figure I let them build it, count it as 20% of their final, and then slam them with the actual final portfolio review when they start thinking they outsmarted me."

Tony’s barked laugh seeped into Steve’s bones, “My type of teacher. All right, I’ll see what I can do to help you after lunch. Your students will get all the ketchup they want.”

“I’ll make sure they start working on the giant hamburger ASAP.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the next one, onto the next one.
> 
> Let's see if I can post something tomorrow with my work schedule! Thanks for reading! :D


	13. De-aged Tony (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of De-aged!Tony prompt: Tony is still small, is still cautious of everything, and is still nervous around Steve. In fact, Steve is beginning to think that Tony doesn't even like him that much...
> 
> Steve is not jealous that Tony, who has been placed in his care by Bruce, is more interested in Bucky being his friend. Tony's a kid, it doesn't matter who his favorite is, because he'll eventually be won over by Captain America, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, updates will be...a little less? Monday and Thursdays from now on! Sorry about that, work is crazy, but I def want to try and keep myself on a schedule for this.

Steve leaned his hip against the counter, tongue scraping at the peanut butter still sticking to the roof of his mouth, and contemplated the boy sitting at the table. He knew it was Tony, had seen with his own eyes Loki cackling as he threw some sort of golden beam at the armored Avenger not even four hours ago. Except, even with Bruce confirming it, he couldn’t quite match the child quietly scribbling on bright construction paper with the charismatic man he had lived with for almost a year.

If Steve had been asked to describe what his teammate would have been like as a child, a question that might have actually been asked by a reporter in the past, it wouldn’t have been a difficult question. The young Tony that Steve would have described would have been either a rambunctious kid that talked his ear off, tugging him place to place in hopes of finding something cool while giving him a heart attack by jumping off jungle gyms, or Tony might have been a studious boy that delighted in explaining the intricacies behind a piece of computer programming while building a robot too complex for people triple his age.

Tony wasn’t supposed to be a small boy that kept to himself, avoiding eye contact if possible while quietly working on a drawing with crayons. A little boy that refused to share anything about himself unless it was pulled out from him with gentle, but continuous prodding; simple things like finding out his favorite color was green took almost fifteen minutes of circular questioning. It just didn’t meet Steve’s expectation of Tony as a child, but then again Tony always did dodge people’s assumptions of him.

“Hey, Tony, what’re you up to?” Steve asked, taking a sip from his glass of milk as he moved closer, carefully not to move too quickly and frighten the boy like earlier in the day when he had grabbed the chair closest to him to sit down in, “Drawing anything interesting?”

The young boy sitting at the kitchen table froze before he looked up at Steve through wavy bangs, averting his gaze as soon as he noticed Steve staring straight at him. His hand curled protectively around the construction paper, crinkling it in his haste, and his fist tightened on the brown crayon in his small hand. “Mom said I’m allowed to draw at the table as long as there isn’t a party…” He said carefully, fidgeting in his chair as Steve approached closer to sit in the chair on the other side of the table, eyeing the half-eaten sandwich next to him as if expecting Steve to lunge and take it away.

“That’s right, your mom is very smart. You shouldn’t draw when there is a party. It’s rude, but I’m one of your friends. I don’t mind if you draw,” Steve fumbled, trying to remember what Maria Stark was like from various articles he had read about Howard when he had entered this century. For some reason all he could remember was a pair of sad, brown eyes in a muted pink pantsuit with a small boy sitting on her lap in a staged photo, Howard looking stern in the background with a heavy hand on both their smaller shoulders. “Can we draw together? That’s what friends do, right?”

A dubious expression settled itself onto Tony’s much younger features, twisting his small mouth into an almost familiar pout. “You’re Captain America.  You’re daddy’s friend, sir,” he said, pulling his peanut butter sandwich closer to take a large bite of it, hand still covering what he was drawing. After chewing, and swallowing painfully, he continued thickly around sticky peanut butter, “Mommy said I’m supposed to listen to military people who are here for daddy, sir.  If you want to draw, you can, I guess, sir…” He explained slowly, cautiously returning to his drawing after a moment when he nudged his plate away and pushed the remaining crayons over to Steve, keeping only one for himself.

“And what if I want to draw with you?” Steve asked, trying to catch Tony’s eye, “What if I want to be your friend?” He asked, picking out a bright blue crayon, and started to sketch out narrow shoulders and bare feet (they needed to find shoes if they wanted to take Tony outside the tower.). “Tony, hey,” Steve stopped his crayon near the base of sketch-Tony and looked at the little boy who was coloring in something that looked like an amorphous brown blob, ignoring Steve once he sat down next to him, “Can I be your friend? Not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers?”

Tony stopped his coloring and stared at the table, sucking in air quickly through his open mouth, “Mommy says friends are dangerous.  Daddy says friends only want one thing, sir.” he shut his eyes and hunched his shoulders, pulling away from Steve as he scooted onto the further edge of the chair, “I don’t want to be your friend.”

Steve was about to answer, to explain to Tony that he wanted to be his friend because he liked Tony for him, when he was drawn to a deliberate-sounding cough from the doorway. Turning, wondering if it was Bruce returned from the lab with good news, he saw a person he didn’t actually expect to be in the tower for a couple more days due to a mission: Bucky.

“Oh, hey, Steve. I, uh, heard about this from Tasha but I didn’t...Geeze, he’s small,” his friend said, running his flesh hand through his tangled hair, staring at Tony who had stopped his coloring to stare at the man with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open with a little gasp. “Shit, I mean, crap, I mean...shoot. Uh, you look busy, I’m going to go sleep for a couple hours and catch up with you-”

“I know you,” Tony said quietly, now-broken crayon gripped tightly in his small fist, “You’re Bucky. You’re Captain America’s best friend.”

Bucky looked as uncomfortable with the phrasing as he did when it was first uttered by the Howling Commandos over seventy years ago. “Uh, yeah, well, I’m going to get going, Steve, sounds like you’re busy with Stark and-”

“You liked him when Captain America was little!" And even Steve could feel the weird hero-worship, not knowing that Tony ever thought of Bucky that way, even though Bucky had moved into the tower following Steve shortly after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Before it could get too awkward, Bucky still didn’t know what to do in crowds and kids avoided him after battles because of how ‘scary’ he looked, the ex-soldier nodded to Steve as a ‘good-bye’ and turned with a little wave to beat a hasty retreat.

“That’s cool!” Steve didn’t know when Tony had jumped from his chair, or how he had moved so quickly, but he was pretty sure Bucky’s gun was not supposed to be in the boy’s hands. “I know this!” Tony said, hands running over the gun with way too much familiarity for a four-year old. Without a moments hesitation the boy sat down on the floor and started disassembling the gun, quickly and efficiently pulling out the magazine and checking the chamber for bullets before moving the plug and recoil spring with his small fingers.

Tony had already removed the slide stop by the time Bucky had crouched down next to the boy, looking at Steve with a flustered expression that asked for help that quickly soured when he saw the super soldier give a helpless look in return. “So, uh, Stark, looks like you know your way around a gun?” Bucky said hesitantly, metal hand reached down to steady his body as he sat down near Tony, who was gently placing pieces down in a systematic manner.

“This is a really, really old 1911!” Tony gushed, and Steve was extremely concerned that Tony was excited about a gun at such a small age, “Daddy makes these! He’s working on a new one right now, something called a Mossy-berg," he said matter-of-factly, jostling the gun so a smaller piece would fall into his hand.

Bucky chuckled, taking the gun from Tony once the boy finished disassembling the gun to field strip levels. “I think you’re talking about the Mossberg.” Tony stared at Bucky in awe as the assassin removed the hammer pin, tilted it to show amazed eyes, and then pulled out the hammer assembly. “So Howard helped in developing that?”

Tony frowned, looked at Steve before inching closer to Bucky who was now putting the gun back together, not wanting to take it apart altogether on the floor of the kitchen, “I don’t know what developing means, but daddy makes a lot of guns and he says that I need to learn it too because I’m going to take over for him, and I need to know how to talk to the military people and make better guns so we can help the troops,” He said quickly, sounding a littler rehearsed, sitting up on his knees to put his hands on Bucky’s shoulder to get a closer look at the gun that was being put together much quicker in a pair of hands twice the size of Tony’s.

“Now listen here, you hooligan, you can’t build guns unless you know their names,” Bucky said as he stood, grinning down at the boy who was standing much slower; one small hand holding the emptied firearm to his chest while the other hand pressed against Bucky’s Kevlar-encased leg to keep balance. “I guess I can help you out with some of the older ones, if you think you can keep up.”

Steve knew what was going to happen only a second before the young boy turned, his eyes alight with something that hearkened to Tony when he was on a twenty-hour binge in the workshop, “Captain America, can I go with Bucky? He said he’s going to teach me weapon stuff,” he enthused, bouncing on the balls of his feet and staring at Bucky with obvious adoration in his eyes. After a moment Bucky grinned and patted Tony on the head with his flesh hand, tangling it in the curls to tilt up the boy’s head.

“Hey, hooligan, what do you say?”

“Oh, sorry, sir, I mean, can I go with Bucky please Captain America, sir?”

And Steve wasn’t jealous of Bucky, who had somehow become Tony’s favorite in the five minutes after he was introduced to the past-Winter Soldier. He was just concerned. Not jealous that Bucky had made Tony smile and talk more than Steve was able to for the last hour. Just worried that Bucky wouldn’t be able to handle a small child, even though he had handled Steve well enough when they were little.

“Sure, Tony. Go have fun with Bucky,” Steve said, slumping in his chair only after the two had left the room, leaving him to clean up the crayons and plates from lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the next prompt chapter on Thursday! Let's see what I come up with next!
> 
> Hopefully you all liked this chapter! :D


	14. Imaginary!Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imaginary!Steve AU. Tony has everything a kid could want living in New York City. A rich dad, good grades, and a mom who tolerates him between martinis. But what he doesn't have is a friend. 
> 
> This changes when Steve comes around. Steve is everything Tony could want in a friend. He's older. He's cool. And he doesn't mind spending time with Tony when his parents are busy. 
> 
> It's just too bad he's imaginary.
> 
> So it's weird that over twenty years later Tony thinks he sees a familiar face in his company's graphic design department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Seriously I literally wrote this today, after something a friend said inspired me. Imaginary friends who come to life! :O

Tony loves Sundays.

Not because he doesn’t have school, or that his mother actually pays attention to him after the family goes to church (strictly for appearances). It’s not even that, because it is a weekend, it means that Jarvis can actually talk to Tony outside of the house without a pinch to the side from his nanny.

No, the reason Tony loves Sunday is that he is able to sit with Steve in Central Park and he doesn’t have to worry about being in trouble for talking to him.

“What’s their story?”

Steve hummed thoughtfully and leaned back on the chair, arms stretched across almost the entire length as he watched a woman walk by arm-in-arm with a much younger man. “He’s her nephew from Arkansas. He came up to the City to spend time with her in hope of forgetting the girlfriend of three years who dumped him after he gave her a ring. It’s not going to work and he’s just going to get more depressed until she signs him up for therapy” Steve tilted his head to watch the pair as they turned to go deeper into the park only to be distracted by a pretty girl running past. “Okay, your turn. Go.”

“Uh...she just moved here from Florida,” Tony floundered for a moment before picking up on their usual game of making up lives for strangers they’d never talk to, “She got a scholarship to Columbia for nursing, and her whole family is really happy. Her husband is planning a party with everyone when she gets home to celebrate, and -”

“And she realized that she has to lose twenty pounds to fit in with everyone else who is in her class, so she won’t even eat the triple-layer fudge cake her hubby picked out for her,” Steve finished, smiling at Tony when the boy whipped around in his seat to give him a glare. “What? What’s with the face? I’m just making it more interesting. More realistic.”

“You always make everything so depressing. First he broke up with his girlfriend and now she’s fat.”

“Well, that’s how life usually is. You’ll understand this when you’ve lived as long as me.”

“You’re only twenty six,” Tony grumbled, ignoring Steve when the older man uncrossed his legs so he could shift over a little more on the seat to allow an elderly man to sit nearby. “Stop stealing my stories. Make your people sad, leave mine alone.”

Steve chuckled and allowed Tony to snuggle closer on the chair, careful not to crowd him, “So why’d you ask me to come out today? I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to me anymore?”

Tony sighed deeply, not wanting to talk about how he technically wasn’t supposed to see Steve anymore, “Wanna know something?” He asked instead, exhaling sharply so his bangs fluttered, “It’s a real downer.” When Steve raised an eyebrow, Tony continued reluctantly, “I think I know what Dad and Obi were talking about last weekend. It’s mom. I think dad’s tired of her.”

Steve made a tutting noise and turned to the boy, stretching one leg out, but keeping the other tucked under the bench. “Now Tony, you know that’s not true. Your parents have been married for almost nine years.”

“Dad only kept his last cell phone for three months before he got a different one. Out with the old, in with the new.” Tony said quietly as he turned to look at a different person coming near their bench, a middle-aged woman walking her lab, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

“Tony, you know it won’t be like that. Your dad loves your mom. Your mom loves your dad. They had you, right? Don’t worry, they’ll be together for-”

“Uh oh, it’s dad,” said Tony, cutting off Steve when he noticed his father walking towards them from the nearby pathway with a scowl etched across his features. It was never good when dad came to get him from the park instead of Jarvis or Mrs. Arbogast.

“Act invisible.”

And when Howard Stark came over the grab his son, hand just a bit too tight around an arm a bit too small, Steve did nothing. Steve simply sat back on the bench, arms stretched out, and watched the father scold his son a tad too loudly in public.

Because even though Steve was always there for Tony, guiding him when things got too rough, Steve couldn’t actually help the eight year old boy with things that really mattered, no matter how much he wished he could.

It came with the territory of being an imaginary friend.

\---

Twenty-one years later on a similar Sunday, a well-dressed man with a sharp goatee came to sit on the same bench an eight year old had sat on with his imaginary friend.

Anthony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, took every Sunday off. Every secretary he had wondered why someone who was so busy would consciously not schedule something on that one day, be it a business golf outing or a conference call with a country that was one day ahead. Even his PR team knew, though they hated it, because it was a well-known fact that the young billionaire would not go to any gala, sign any autographs, or join any company fundraising on that one day per week.

All he did was sit on a bench in Central Park

The couple who passed him this morning were obviously in love, madly, deeply, he imagined. The woman’s blond hair swirled around her shoulders and the man’s hand was pressed softly against her back to guide her around other people on the path. It was too bad that the man was dropping his wife off to the sonogram appointment by herself. The first black and grey image of his son was important to the smiling man, Tony mused, but he also had a mistress of three years to sneak off to, and people's priorities were always skewed.

Tony took note of the boy who was walking past with headphones that were too big that were playing music too loud. For a second he imagined a story that was happy (the boy, _teenager_ , was going on his first date with the girl he had been friends with for over five years.  They were finally taking the next step that everyone expected them to.), but it quickly soured into a story involving drug-use and struggling to get through high-school algebra while avoiding being beat up by his step-father.

As Tony sat on a bench from his childhood, making up overly-depressing stories for the people who walked by, he didn’t realize there was something watching him. In particular, someone from his childhood. Someone who couldn't be real. Someone who technically wasn't real until a week ago.

Steve marveled at the feeling of bark under his fingers a moment, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he could actually _feel_ , before looking over to Tony on the bench. _His_ Tony on _their_ bench. This time he would make it right. This time he could actually do something to help Tony.

Because Steve wasn’t imaginary anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going to Otakon later this week. I'll see if I can get another chapter up of something this week. :D


	15. FFX!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FFX!AU: Steve is a guardian, tasked with protecting his summoner. Except that his last summoner died during the Final Summoning, and Steve is somehow dragged into protecting another summoner who he really doesn't want to reach Zanarkand. Because he knows what happens and he doesn't think he can take the heartbreak a second time.
> 
> Whereas Tony is a young summoner tasked with saving Spira, just like every other summoner on the continent. The only problem is that the pyrefly in his chest might mean that he's technically not alive. Which supposably goes against the teachings of Yveon, if anyone found out about it besides his guardians...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a very long time. Like, beginning of August long time. Been very busy with work. And life. And I wish I could write more because it keeps me unstressed.
> 
> I am so stressed. D:
> 
> Please enjoy!

\---

He remembers seeing Lady Margaret, called Peggy after they had collected the second aeon, walk towards Lady Yunalesca, her hands limp at her sides as she listens to the woman who was supposed to be dead explain the Final Aeon.

He remembers her summoning staff slipping from limp fingers to clatter on the ground when they realize what must be done, her wide eyes turning to stare at her guardians who have come with her this whole way _only for one to be sacrificed and turned into an aeon._

He remembers Bucky yelling nearby, disarmed, his sword thrown across the platform by an unseen force, screaming about the _injustice_ and _journeys_ and _how this doesn’t solve anything._

He remembers Howard walking forward, his forbidden machina humming loudly, to offer himself because, _“My wife hates me and my son...I might not believe in Yevon, but I believe in a Spira without Sin.”_

He remembers Howard collapsing limp to the ground in a shower of pyreflies, Bucky charging at the smiling unsent woman, and Peggy crying as she summons the Final Aeon from her fallen guardian.

He remembers the ground rumbling as Sin appeared to do battle with man-turned-fayth-turned-aeon.

He remembers Peggy failing, Howard’s aeon dissipating in a shower of pyreflies, leaving him and Bucky to face the monster known as Sin by themselves.

He remembers... _he remembers everything_...and then...Steve forgets.

\---

Steve knows he shouldn’t stare, can feel Clint digging his bow into his side at his blatant disrespect, but he can’t pull his eyes from Tony when the last of their party exits the changing room in flowing summoning robes.

Sir Anthony, the summoner who took pity on Steve when he was simply the man with no memory, was a more practical summoner than those who usually started the journey to defeat Sin. He often wore no nonsense, thickly warded tunics paired with long pants, pockets filled with forbidden machina to the horror of Bruce, and a pair of heavy gauntlets strapped up to his elbows that allowed him to channel his magic outside and during battles. A plated armguard made sure to provide protection to his weaker left side, while a heavy cape draped over the upper half of his body allowed for that extra flair whenever the man suddenly deemed it necessary to summon an aeon when the fiends became too difficult to defeat.

But this...Steve swallowed against the dry lump in his throat, this was not the response he expected when they had been refused entry at the latest temple due to Tony’s “not appropriate for a summoner”-clothing.

“This is stupid,” Tony whined, tugging at his new clothing to try and settle it correctly to cover his upper half, his normal clothing bundled up in a ball under his arm as he left the inn they had stayed at the night before, “I don’t know why I have the wear these. I haven’t worn them the entire trip, but to enter this temple I suddenly have to look respectable and-”

“You finally look like the summoner you’re supposed to be,” Natasha interrupted semi-fondly, the Al-Bhed uncrossing her arms with a small smile as she walked forward to adjust the short vest that barely covered Tony’s upper chest, which stopped sharply right below his pectorals in the front only to curve sensuously around his ribs to gather into a flounce at the back, “Of course, you could have chosen something a bit more...appropriate,” she mused as she took in the skin that was blatantly bared due to the vest being paired with a pair of very low hanging pants that seemed to be created of a thin, gauzy material.

If you looked hard enough, you could see that underneath Sir Anthony had only the barest scraps of fabric covering-

Not that Steve was paying close enough attention to see the material do this.

“This is ridiculous,” Tony grumbled, throwing his clothes at the tight-lipped Ronso who had been asked to be called ‘Bruce’ when they had found him wandering in the Calm Lands by himself, “A temple should not bar a summoner from entering because they aren’t wearing stuffy summoning clothes,” he said, stomping back towards the temple that was the largest building in the entire city.

“Come, young Sir Anthony, you need this aeon to continue your journey,” Thor boomed, emerging from the inn, having obviously been the person to help Tony pick out his new ‘outfit’; out of humor or seriousness they could never tell with the black mage, “This summoner’s guise will sooth the wraths of the priests’ you offended with your coarse garb and will grant you entry to the hallowed halls to pray for the fayth to bless our journey.”

Tony flailed his arms at his guardians to follow as he mounted the heavily polished steps, scowling when it caused his pants to slip an inch or two and his vest to move northern and to show the lower half of pectorals and was that a hint of nipple, surely it wasn’t a hint of-

“We are going to be run out of this town,” said Bruce morosely as they entered the temple, nudging Steve with his bulky shoulder so the man would pull his eyes from their summoner’s scantily clad body. Steve flushed and gave a guilty nod, dreading the reaction of the people inside the temple, and quickened his steps so he could find Tony angrily climbing the steps into the inner regions of the temple.

But, except from a few raised eyebrows, and one young allocate who seemed to appreciate Sir Anthony’s ass a tad too much to the horror of Clint, the group easily made their way through the Cloister of Trials towards the inner sanctum.

As Tony entered the Chamber of the Fayth, the other guardians taking their usually positions around the room directly outside, Steve felt himself tense, preparing himself for his own personal trial: the memories.

Usually the flashbacks were small, fading to the back of his mind while they traveled to another town or explored a city for different weapons or safe passage to a different part of the continent. There were never anything important, a glimpse of Peggy’s side profile as she laughed, Bucky grinning as he bargained down a vendor on a sword price. Every once in a while Tony would do something, say something, and Steve would be caught choking on the words, _‘you’re just like your father’_ , because he knows that is the last thing Tony wants to hear as he completes his own journey to defeat Sin.

A journey that Steve and his friends failed, but no one knows.

The memories, though, become stronger while closer to the fayth; perhaps drawing on a similar connection with Sin. Here, inside the hallowed halls, Steve remembers everything so clearly. He remembers the journey with Peggy and her other guardians, how each summoned aeon was one step closer to the final battle. How quickly they moved throughout Spira and believed they would be the ones to finally defeat Sin before the end of the year. Remembers how Bucky would wax poetically about them all traveling back to settle at Besaid afterward, allowing Howard to finally become a good dad and Steve and Bucky to battle it out to see who would marry the returning Grand Summoner Margaret.

Steve knows the truth about what happens to a summoner when they reach Zanarkand, the city that had been dead for hundreds of years. It isn’t just a fight to the death for the summoner, giving up their life to destroy Sin. It’s the bigger sacrifice of having a loved one take your place, dying for you, while you can do nothing but watch and accept.

He shakes off the memories as Tony stumbles through the door into Bruce’s arms, the smaller man panting, his thin summoning robes transparent with sweat even though he couldn’t have spent more than a few minutes in the room.

“That was much quicker than usual,” Natasha observed as she offered her own jacket to cover the chills that suddenly raced through Tony as they made their way back to the surface. The redhead nodded at Clint and he raced off to gather their gear at the inn and meet them at the dock. It seemed they weren’t staying in the city one more nighttime recover, most likely due to Tony suddenly refusing to look at the temple walls as they left.

“Well, Rhodey was always to the point,” Tony said, shrugging to try and show nonchalance, a thin veneer that collapsed as soon as they left the Cloister, his eyes brimming with tears that shouldn’t fall, ”I never had to argue with him as much as Pepper,” he continued as they walked back into the sun of the bustling city, rapidly blinking his eyes as if the light was the cause of the tears that slid down his cheeks.

And though that point is far off in the future, and Steve hopes this group will never reach it, he knows what he will do when he finds Lady Yunalesca again. When the time comes, he will be the one to become a fayth. He will become the Final Aeon, to protect Tony and the friends he has made on his second journey to protect Spira and defeat Sin.

“You coming, Steve?” Tony asked, a small grin already returning to his features as he stripped off the top half of the ridiculous outfit, baring a scarred chest with a pyrefly caught in a glass cage.

Steve finds his eyes tracing the small wisp of light, wondering if someone who was unsent could possibly defeat Sin since they would already be deceased. The thought of Tony still alive after the Final Summoning fills Steve with a type of lightness he hasn’t felt since before, when Peggy still laughed and Bucky still breathed and Howard still tinkered.

“Sure, Tony, I’ll be right behind you.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this continues, which is might, it'd be an exploration of Spira and what exactly happens when someone who is unsent decides to perform a final summoning (and possibly finding out that someone else in the party is unsent but doesn't know about it? *cough*Steve*cough*)
> 
> Hopefully I get something up soon; I'll avoid work! I have so many little WIP for this collection and I need to continue some of the other ones (like bby!Tony and mistaken identity).
> 
> We will see what comes out! Until next time! Feel free to review or leave an AU you'd like to see me go for.


	16. Musician!Steve/Opera diva!Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musician!AU: Steve is finally getting his chance to play for the Met Opera. His dream after all these years of hard work and he's finally in the big leagues! Except it seems his co-workers are a bit stranger than he thought they would be, and there is that weird clause about "private lessons" with the famed tenor Tony Stark, who is returning to the Met after being away for the past season...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I suck. 
> 
> People say Musician!AU and then they write about rock bands and angst and head banger concerts!
> 
> I hear musician!au and I think about the string section getting in fights with woodwinds, high Cs, and the pain of hearing a saxophone tune up on an early Sunday morning. Oh well. Just like with the college!au, I write what I write.

\---

“Everything good over here?”

Steve looked up from fiddling with his oboe, reed clamped between his lips as he disassembled the instrument, and nodded to conductor Fury. It was his first season at the Metropolitan Opera, having somehow ace’d the audition when the previous Principal oboe player retired due to a torn rotator cuff, and he was still trying to get used to the eclectic mixture of musicians that now surrounded him as co-workers.

The tall man gave him a once over with his single eye before nodding in understanding. “I know that the Met is a little...different from other orchestras,” Fury began, lifting his gaze to the stage behind the musicians, watching a set being modified for _Carmen_ directly next to the whimsical chandelier being raised for _The Merry Widow_ , “But we work damn hard to make sure the singers sound good and that the music sounds even better.”

Nearby, Steve could hear the squawk of Clint Barton, solo harpist for this practice, failing in his attempts to woo concertmaster Coulson.

Fury sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose, ignoring his second in command as he tried to stab the other musician with his bow. “At least, during rehearsals and performances, we have the best music.” They both chose to ignore Barton’s whimpers from nearby or the soft chuckles that were coming from the redhead who was closing her miniscule piccolo case. “Afterwards, when you all scamper the moment the union says you can, I can wash my hands of you disasters until the next rehersal.”

Steve was about to ask what Fury exactly meant by his turn of phrase, famous orchestras weren't often called 'disasters' by their conductors so early in the season, but the man was already stomping off to the violin section towards an unsuspecting Billy Kaplan, a second violin hired around the same time as Steve, who had the bad habit of not following the bow strokes of everyone around him.

Fumbling with his reed as he placed the top half of his instrument snugly into its lined case, Steve bit back a curse when everything almost fell onto the floor. Carefully gripping the cork end and making sure there wasn’t any damage and that he hadn’t nicked the cane by accident, he slid the redd into the small storage case and then looked up into a pair of massive thighs. He had only been practicing with the full orchestra for a couple months, and thus didn’t know everyone On the roster, but the timpani player was very difficult to miss.

“Oh, uh, hey, Thor,” He said, closing his case and looking for his nearby backpack to shove it in. Since this was a normal rehearsal he didn’t have to worry about rumpling his suit and could go for the more casual backpack instead of modified briefcase. “What’s going on?”

The blinding smile sent his way floored Steve. “Good Steven,” Thor began, catching the attention of some musicians still loitering nearby, “It would be my greatest honor to invite you to join my companions and I on a journey to obtain sustenance?”

Well, you couldn’t say no to a request like that. Once Steve figured out what exactly the other blond was asking.

Which is how Steve found himself at Big Nick’s a couple blocks up, wedged into a booth with people from other sections, eating sub-par food at 2am on a Sunday night, and listening to orchestra gossip (which everyone knows is the best gossip).

“Oh, oh! You’ll love this!” Natasha gave a feral grin from behind her beer, taking a quick sip before continuing, “I heard Stark is coming back.”

The table, which had been filled with boisterous laughter and fart noises only seconds before, faded to a disturbing quiet. Steve squirmed from where he was pressed against the wall by Carol Danvers, an extremely talented english horn player, and shot a confused look at Thor who was gleefully bouncing across from him.

“Ah! It seems like our new friend doesn’t know about the delights about to rain onto our fine opera house this coming season!”

Everyone laughed as if they had just heard the greatest joke but Steve was still missing the punchline.

“Tony’s great; awesome tenor. It’s just that sometimes he’s a little bit of a loose cannon.” Clint said, scarfing down another piece of pizza and avoiding Natasha’s elbow in his side by almost straddling Thor.

Jessica Drew, not to be confused with Jessica Jones who also played clarinet but who was always leaving rehearsal barely after the last note to take care of her baby, gushed, “The man sings beautifully, oh my god, you should hear his Lensky, but Tony Stark is what Fury like to call a ticking time bomb.” Her fingers plucked at her long, dark hair, twisting it absentmindedly into a loose braid. “I mean, he once sang completely drunk while on stage, and the audience loved it! Unnecessary grace notes everywhere! EVERYWHERE. And his notes were running worse than a kid’s nose during flu season!  It's one of the reasons he was politely 'asked' to skip last season to the horror of the subscribers.”

Steve looked across Carol as Peter, the sole bass clarinet in the orchestra who sometimes shared a stand with one of the Jessicas, chimed in to continue the story when Jessica took a bite of her salad, gleefully filling in the blanks, “We’re lucky that Pepper-uh, you probably know her as the famous Ms. Virginia Potts, stepped up her game that night and covered his butt with her own coloratura, but Fury was so angry with the other conductor for letting Stark steal the stage like that. It’s the first time I ever saw the vein in Fury’s forehead _almost_ pop! I was so sure it was going to!” Peter hissed, his hands clenching frantically at the empty air in front of him.

“Stark’s gonna be heartbroken when he finds out you’re taking over for Yinsen,” Clint gestured at Steve with his drink, “I’ve heard from some of the guys in Europe that Stark has been acting like the man has died, even though he’ll technically be back to playing oboe in around a year. Might even be fighting Steve for his old position again,” he said while flailing his arm across the table at Steve.

Natasha shrugged, searching for her purse to settle the bill that just landed on the table, “He’ll be your problem in a little bit. We’ll make sure to keep you up to date on his movements so you aren’t surprised.”

“What does that mean?” Steve said as he looked over from watching Peter layering two slices of pizza to eat as one mega-slice, blinking in confusion when he noticed nobody was currently paying attention to him.

Carol sighed, “Well, Steve, Stark likes having a lot of private practices. Actually needs them due to his crazy schedule teaching master courses and trying to juggle that with his other responsibilities. Since it kept him out of Fury’s nonexistent hair, and Yinsen actually liked the man for some reason, the oboe was volunteered for the special honor of helping Tony Stark practice his scales and work on his pacing, the man is always rushing his arpeggios.”

Steve sighed, already regretting leaving his nice position at the Eastman Opera orchestra, “So, what exactly does that mean for me?”

“It means you get to be locked in a room with Tony Stark, lovable fool of the opera, and try to keep him entertained for a couple hours twice a week if he’s not performing.”

“And how do I do that?”

Carol shrugged, “Either bring your oboe and go over his arias, making sure he knows his shit, which he totally will, or show up with no shirt. Either way, try to keep him in the room and sober so he won’t stumble onto stage until the dress rehearsal with the right cast.”

“I vote for the no shirt.” Jessica said, smiling at Steve’s dumbfounded expression as she shoved a steak fry into her mouth. “It’ll at least keep the rest of the orchestra entertained when he swans in.”

“This is going to be a disaster.” Steve moaned, slumping on the sticky tabletop.

“This is going to be great.” Clint crowed.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I don't know if anyone noticed that there are only four more chapters left! OH NO. Once I close this out, I'll prob open another set of twenty-AUs, but I want to try and work on my other works to finish them before I do more AUs. We'll see!
> 
> Again, if you see an AU you'd like me to try my hand at, leave a comment and I'll throw it in my pending pile (I've got around 12/13 that just need to get finished). XD


	17. Villain!Steve (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Villain!Steve Prompt: We learn a little bit more about how a super soldier is controlled differently from the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier while under HYDRA command. How much of the man is the confrontational Commander Rogers and how much is the complacent American? Is it a split-personality built out of torture, or is one a facade? Where is Steve Rogers in all of this?
> 
> Also, Alexander Pierce pays a visit. He may or may not be killed. It's really only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2spoopy4me.
> 
> I like writing villain!Steve as a real villain? And I really don't know if he has morals anymore? Or if he is focusing on certain things? Possibly on Iron Man/Winter Soldier/Black WIdow when/if he meets them? Idk. Pierce also has sorta no-no-creepy hands.
> 
> Trying to keep it short so I can work on other chapters (only three more!)

Sometimes sleeping is not bad for him. If he worked hard, exhausted himself fully and received some type of critical injury, he’d fall asleep quickly and wouldn’t dream because of the medication they’d pumped through his veins. He liked when that happened.

So he allowed himself to become a target during operations, though he knew it may be fatal one day, just so his handlers would make the dreams go away with the bitter taste of liquid morphine. It was much better than being put under completely, which occurred when he did a good job and he could be returned immediately to training or storage. It didn’t exactly lead to dreams but the forced drowsiness from stasis stuck persistently to him until he’d sunk his shield into the spine of a body, be it friend or foe.

Most of the time, all the time, falling asleep without drugs was horrible.

When he was tired, feeling the aches of a practice that had been just on the wrong side of too hard, he dreamt of cold wind rushing through hair that’s a couple inches longer and freezing water that lapped at his thighs even though he thought he was in a plane. Could feel memories that can’t be his tugging at his grey matter, trying to make him understand as laughter followed him stomping through dream-imagined pine forests. Saw weapons in his hands that were decommissioned long, long ago, while wearing a different uniform and there’s a warm smile directed at him from a pair of blood-red lips that aren’t the Widow’s. Looked into a pair of wide and shocked brown eyes that belong to a ghost that seems so familiar that it aches.

These dreams cause something like a fist-sized lump to press hard on his chest, enough to make his eyes burn. He made sure not to mention these dreams to those in charge because it only leads to broken wrists and solitary confinement. Once, when he was young and still fought after missions, he yelled about a war that was never going to end, which resulted in him having to fight against the Winter Soldier in the weekly evaluations instead of joining him in thinning out the operatives. It was easier to keep his dreams to himself when he was sane enough to remember.

When he is exhausted and collapses where he stands, he feels the knives digging into him as the scientists checked to see how quickly a literal pound of flesh would be regenerated. Could feel the phantom pain of fingers inside his chest touching the wrong side of his ribs, the back of a latex-covered hand brushing up against his lungs uncomfortably. Remembered, again, how he was commanded to stay awake, with nothing to dull the pain, but he did it because he was trained to follow orders and he was good. Could taste the bile burning at his throat as one doctor, a mousy man from Switzerland, squeezed his stomach with bare hands mere moments after the skin had been pulled back.

He still marveled that his body had somehow repaired the deep “T” incision that scraped against his collarbone and split down the length of his body to end, barely, above his pelvis. Of course, the scarring was still faint, but that was to be expected with how many times they reopened it, _‘Just to check’_ , as one nurse had happily commented in reply to the gasped out _'why?’ _the first time they had ripped out the stitches and started cutting, sawing, murmuring to each other as he screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed-__

The lights turned on and he wakes up instantly, eyes opening abruptly to stare at the blank ceiling of the simple room given to him after Rumlow’s body had been quartered and removed from the facility.

“Ah, I knew you were the cause of the trouble the minute I was given the report.”

He didn’t move. He’s not supposed to move until he’s given the order, but he has to fight the urge to rip out the other man’s throat. He has been waiting for the man who smelt of strong coffee and newspaper ink to come find him. The man that always came when he’d been uncooperative. When he didn’t follow orders. When he started thinking _thoughts_ and _questioning_. It was just a matter of time.

“I didn’t expect you to kill Brock, but he must have said something quite uncouth to set you off.” A sigh, a rustle of a suit jacket being slipped off and settled on the chair nearby. “Of course, he always did rush into things when given too much rein.” The cot dipped, causing his body to roll onto its side and against the older man’s back, eyes now trained on the closed door and trying to smother the reaction of his body to the sudden contact.

“He always had a greater fondness for the Soldier, unfortunate for you, which might have been why he was so...confrontational when you made it back here. I apologize.” Alexander Pierce leaned back, shoulders brushing the wall, forcing him to shift his legs slightly so the older man was cradled against his stomach and thighs like a recliner.

He suddenly thought of jackknifing his knee into the man's side, a twitch that could be chalked up to excitement if investigated later. Just enough to snap a rib, to hear the gasp of pain as it punctured a lung and to relish in the feeling of taking down another. It would be quick. It probably wouldn’t be painless. And he could escape again, and it would be so easy to run past all the guards who now called him Commander, but things were so difficult in this new world. He needed to find shelter, to find a network, to find people, people who would let him command, people who did not have such low expectations as HYDRA for the world, who wanted to make the world better, and the thoughts are spinning but Pierce is talking, still talking, always talking, and he needs to pay attention-

Pierce’s hand ran through his short military cut, blunt fingers scratching against the slightly raised scar from another modification at the base of his skull and rubbing along the hairline in a pantomime of a father comforting his child. “I should have expected something like this to happen sooner. You’ve been under for too long, must be causing some faults,” the voice mused, hand making another pass through short hair before removing itself to suddenly clap onto his shoulder, like how one would slap a horse’s neck when it won the Kentucky Derby. “You made it here, though, unscathed, so that has to be worth something.

“You remembered the most important rule: always return to us. You can’t be like the Widow, who abandoned us, and the Soldier, who was stolen and had his brain scrambled to mistrust us.” The man gave a soft chuckle, “The circumstances were different for them. The Widow was born into this and, much like a child, she abandoned her parents when she discovered something new and exciting. The Soldier, of course, needed to be broken. Multiple times. You remember this, how he fought, and fought, and you remembered it all no matter how long you were under. No matter how many times we drugged you, and kept you under, you always remembered him.”

A thumb traced his pale eyebrow fondly, “You remember so much. You learn from it. You have the strength of the Soldier, but the easy grace of the Widow when you need it. You can do so much, and you can do some much more now that they’re out of the picture. Step out of their shadow and follow our orders.

“It helps that you’re such a good, good boy.” The trigger phrase was whispered softly into his ear, causing his body to freeze mid-flinch as the voice that was getting stronger, the voice that told him to kill Brock and demanded to be called Rogers, was shunted to the back for a moment.

He relaxed as deep-rooted training took over, the American stepping forward eager, if not pleased, to be commanded. The circuitry embedded deep inside his skin and bones locked all his muscles as Pierce stood, the disappearance of support causing his upper body to roll forward and smother half his face into a thin pillow. The decisions he made yesterday suddenly seem so stupid, but they are buried quickly as his slate is wiped clean from the nanobots infused on his medial temporal lobe and everything narrowed down to breathing and listening. There is the fleeting, barely there thought of wanting more and-

-there is a click, more like a sharp crack inside his skull, and Commander Rogers moved forward again, no longer content and given enough time to heal and gain a foothold, firmly nudging the American to the side while whispering words of _fake it fake it. make him believe. information. he has a use. keep him for now_ -

“Now, you’re very lucky. I have a mission for you.” Pierce is facing away, plucking his jacket from the chair to artfully drape over an arm, so he doesn’t see the struggle for control or the feral grin that is forcefully manipulated into a bland smile. “I’ve decided that you are going to take back the helm of Captain America. It is your right,” he says, turning back to see his asset sitting up and following him placidly with his pale eyes.

A shiver snaked up his spine when he realized that Pierce didn’t know, he didn’t know, and as the other man continued to talk of a plan involving the White House and cover stories, and being discovered in ice by SHIELD, but in reality being planted there by operatives already in the secret government agency, he soaked up the feeling of being a step ahead of his torturer.  

Commander Rogers sat calmly in place of the American, easily assuming the mannerisms of the asset controlled by HYDRA for over seventy years, taking in the details freely given to him and planned his own strategy to either take HYDRA in hand and raise it to prior glory or destroy it completely when it did not meet his expectations.

Pierce would need to be removed, of course, but that would be quickly completed once he secured his own position inside of SHIELD. One could not rush destroying an entire agency from the inside, no matter how easy it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters should be these AUs (hopefully):
> 
> more bby!Tony  
> complete Mistaken!Identity  
> Either a new AU, or a continuation of an older one in here (feel free to suggest if there's one you'd like to see).
> 
> Don't know if they'll be in that order, but we will see! Thanks again!


	18. Dragon!Tony and Knight!Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon!Tony and Knight!Steve: Gallant knight Steve's quest is to rid the countryside of dragons and other unsavory things and has never had a problem until he found the weird dragon who kept stealing horseshoes and making friends with sheep. All was going according to plan until the dragon gets -stuck- as a human and asks for his help.
> 
> Steve's new quest is to find the dragon's one true love so he can turn back into his beautiful scaled self.
> 
> Steve never learned about this in knight school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY. ANOTHER RANDOM AU. ON A ROLL.

\---

Steve creeped deeper into the dark cave, holding his sword quiet against his side as tried to find sturdy footing on the sandy entrance. It was easier to move in his reduced armor, stripping everything but his gauntlets, pauldrons, shield, and sword, but he was aware that he was going into a very dangerous situation with very little protection. For a moment he thought darkly of the chief advisor, Lord Coulson, who had approached him a fortnight ago for help with the kingdom’s ‘little problem’:

A dragon.

A dragon that set ablaze huge swaths of farmland (granted, only after the harvest had been collected). A crafty dragon that stole armor from soldiers when their convoy stopped for the night (except it only stole the dented helmets and right shin guards). A greedy dragon that ate half a herd of wild deer from the King’s Forest (which ended the mounting overpopulation to the relief of the gamekeeper). A dragon that rolled around in the fields and put the cows off their milk (...there didn’t seem to be a positive result from that besides the surplus of cheese generated).

When Steve had asked if the dragon had actually hurt anyone Lord Coulson had grumbled a terse sounding, “No, but it’s only a matter of time with the way people keep chasing after it trying to catch a look”, before placing a heavy bag of gold alongside a weathered map that depicted where the animal was seen last.

Thus, Steve was given the noble quest of finding and disposing of the dragon that was...annoying the countryside. Actually, when he investigated the matter more, besides the king’s chief advisor, everyone who had been in contact with the dragon seemed to find its actions either amusing or highly interesting; like that of a cat's.

He hadn’t even had to use the map after he exited the crowded streets of the inner-city; just mentioning the large flying beast resulted in a laugh or two, a remark of what it did last time(“It stole my mother-in-law’s pewter pitcher!” “It scattered my compost heap to take a nap!” “It ate the pies I had cooling on the windowsill!”), and Steve was steadily pointed south towards the next village where it had been ‘terrorizing’ the locals.

The last villager he talked to, a teenager studying to be a scribe, described the dragon’s cave in loving detail before asking if he could come to see the dragon and perhaps ask it a question of two. Steve, being much older and much wiser, snipped the request in the bud and quickly mounted his horse to make the picturesque ride towards the dragon.

Steve was fairly sure the dragon was going to be less than expected after he started on the journey; possibly smaller than a cottage and fairly dumb, from the way it allowed itself to be seen and how it seemed to be stealing items from townspeople instead of sneaking off with the royal jewels. The dragon was probably docile, too, according to an old lady from two villages past, who mentioned that it had made friends with a couple of the sheep in her flock that were less than stellar when it came to the brain’s department. With the nicknames of Dummy, Butterfingers, and You, Steve had assumed the old woman wasn’t that much smarter than her sheep.

After dismounting and walking for half an hour in the cave, there it was: huge, menacing and magnificent. Filling up the space that could have held the entirety of the King’s cavalry, and a head big enough to swallow a horse whole, Steve began to wonder if Lord Coulson had sent him on this mission to fail. There was no way he, a single knight, could defeat a dragon this large.

Red scales shimmered with each exhale, glimmering like rubies in the dark light. Bronze decorated the points of the dragon, the tips of its folded wings and the smidgens of underbelly he could see when the creature shifted slightly, giving it an unnatural glow from a hole in the ceiling that allowed in sunlight. The only difference in the dark red and golden hues was the pale, blue spots located high on the skull and the large circle of similar color near the plated chest area.

 _‘Eyespots,’_ Steve thought, carefully stepping closer, _‘possibly a diversionary tactic? Similar to that of-’_ He paused his inner monologue when the dragon shifted its heavily armored neck, sending a helmet and a few other pieces of armor skittering across the well-compacted sand floor. This wasn’t his first time seeing a dragon, he remembered Bucky once pointing out a splash of vibrant green against the sky when they were young and spending a week finding its abandoned lair, but it was the first time he had actually been close enough to count every scale that delicately circled its nostrils and it was making the hair on the back of his neck stand up in sheer terror.

Small humans were not supposed to be this close to an animal this big, his hindbrain screamed.

Steve ignored the instincts telling him to turn tail and run, but allowed his curiosity to convince him to bend and check the helmet that rolled to a stop nearby to make sure there weren’t any...remains. He let out a breath of relief when he didn’t find a burnt skull inside the metal and shifted his weight back into a defensive position, only to find an eye, dark, honeyed bronze, staring down at him from atop the pile of armor and decorative metalwork.

“Uh, that has to be uncomfortable,” he blurted, finally realizing that the dragon’s hoard really wasn’t gold or princesses, like other dragons, but was a huge heap of metal items and armor. He eyed the horseshoes near the base that had been scattered about in a haphazard pattern. “I mean, it’s metal and sharp and…” Steve quickly composed himself when the dragon didn’t move to attack, possibly shocked that someone had found it in its home, and prepared himself for battle by issuing a challenge.

“I’m here to drive you from my kingdom, foul creature, and avenge those you’ve wronged,” Steve proclaimed, swinging out his shield to prepare for the blast of fire he was sure to result from his pronouncement. When he wasn’t toasted or thrown against the wall, he peeked over the curved edge to see that the dragon had shut its eyes again in slumber.

“Hey! Hey!!” Steve indignantly shouted, kicking at the helmet that had fascinated him before with a loud clang that garnered the response of the dragon waking up with a disgruntled huff, “I’m here to challenge you! Proper knight to dragon protocol states you have to at least acknowledge my challenge before burning me to a crisp!”

The third eyelid of the large animal blinked slowly over, gaze unwavering during the action, and Steve, for some reason, knew that the animal was more bored than interested in his words.

“Come on!!” He yelled louder, gesturing with his shield and becoming more frustrated when the dragon seemed ready to go back to sleep...again, “I know you can understand me! Stop being obstinate and fight me like a man!”

“Like a man?” The dragon rumbled finally, groaning afterwards when it began to move its body from its comfortable perch, “I think you’ve been reading the wrong books, gallant knight. Dragons are not men, and we do not fight like them,” it said, bowing down into a deep stretch that highlighted the arch of its back and the large wings that brushed against the vaulted ceiling. “Granted, you’re not the first knight to find me, but I will say you are the most handsome,” it finished, looking over the knight who was now turning bright red, “I might not even eat you, it seems such a waste...”

Steve felt a little queasy. He didn’t know if it was because a giant lizard was flirting with him or the fact that his looks might prevent him from being eaten.

“But you did state your terms, so I guess I must abide. Those ‘knight to dragon protocols’ you seemed so fond of,” it sighed.

Before Steve was able to ask what terms the dragon was talking about, he was sure he hadn’t said anything that could be taken that way, the dragon had slid cat-like off its hoard and was abruptly enveloped in a lighting blue colored magic. Just as Steve was prepared for the attack, because that had to be the only thing the dragon could be gearing up for, the crackling blue pulsed and abruptly filled the room with a sudden blaze of light.

As Steve blinked to restore his vision, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, the dragon had disappeared and a man, who obviously had been a prisoner (maybe a prince?) was left standing in the middle of the cavern. There was a moment of silence where they took each other in, Steve with his travel-worn clothes and the other man without a stitch on him, before the moment was broken by the clunk of another horseshoe falling off the dragon’s hoard.

The man with the oddly-shaped facial hair sighed while rolling his shoulders, glancing at the knight who seemed more embarrassed by his nakedness than taking advantage of a soft and squishy potential enemy. “Well? Are you ready?” The man stretched his hands towards the ceiling, highlighting the lean muscles, before dropping into a sloppy defensive position.

Steve was not blushing. Steve was not blushing while staring at the, frankly, gorgeous man standing naked in front of him inside a dragon cave. A man who, know that he looked a bit closer, had eyes that were extremely familiar, almost like the-

“Y-you’re the dragon!” Steve stuttered, gesturing vaguely in the other man’s general direction, careful to make sure his eyes didn’t catch on any...interesting bits. “I-this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! A dragon! I have to fight you as a dragon! I have to get rid of the dragon, not the dragon-turned-person!”

“You said to fight you as a man, and this seemed like the easiest way.“ The man snorted, seemed amused by the noise, before shrugging and distracting Steve again at the smooth play of muscles under olive-toned skin, “I don’t see why it makes a difference. I’m still me. You’re still you. I just made it a little fairer. I could have just eaten you.” He mused, tapping at his chin and looking over Steve again. “I mean, I still could eat you, but it seems un-sportsman like. Don’t want it getting around that-Gods!”

Steve had taken the chance to lunge forward with his sword, surprised when the dragon-in-human-skin managed to dodge, barely, by scrambling around the heap of metal junk nearby.

“Hey, hey, hey, Mr. Knight, I thought you’d be all noble and at least let me get a weapon or something before you skinned-yeow!” The other man scrambled back when Steve threw his shield at him to try and hit his legs, all cockiness leaving him when he realized that Steve was going to kill him. “Seriously? You can’t even-“ the dragon yelped again when Steve strode towards him, circling the larger section of the hoard at a panicked run when Steve unsheathed his broadsword.

A few moments later, after Steve had chased the naked man around the huge pile of broken armor and rusty nails three times, he finally closed the gap when the other man stumbled- _“Oh winged one! That hurt! Nails hurt when you step on them in this stupid body!”_ \- and threw his sword to the side to subdue the other by tackling him. He didn’t really want to hurt him, but he was obviously a little rough when the dragon-man wheezed out a gasp after Steve pushed him against the wall, making sure to pin the other’s hands to the wall above his head because for all he knew dragons needed their hands to perform their magic.

“Okay, okay, I give, I give,” the dragon said grimacing as he shifted from foot to foot before he continued to ramble, heaving in a huge breath that drew Steve’s gaze to the round circle of blue glass in the smaller man’s chest before he was abruptly sidetracked by the fact that the _man was still naked and Steve had him pressed right against his front and he swore he could feel the dragon’s body heat even though there was at least a foot between them_.

“-or maybe some horseshoes? They’re really nice, and I know you have a horse around here,” the dragon stopped momentarily to lick at his lips, which Steve unfortunately noticed, “And I know that shield wasn’t made for you, I could make you a new shield? And-what are you looking at?” The dragon asked.

Steve did not reply _‘your nipples,’_ but it was close.

“Nothing.” Steve grumbled, leaning ever so slightly away to put distance between them. “I’m just deciding how to get rid of you,” he continued, ignoring the widening bronze eyes, “Lord Coulson said I had to defeat the dragon. Except, well, you’re not a dragon right now.”

The naked body squirmed in fear and Steve did not look down, though he did tighten his hands around the slender wrists.

“In fact, it might be better if I don’t bring you back with me. Everyone in the city will think I’m crazy. Sir Steven bringing back a man and saying he’s a dragon.” He pursed his lips in thought and stared down at the man who was now sucking on his lower lip and widening his eyes so he looked more pathetic and innocent at the same time while trapped against the wall. “And I can’t kill you, because I’ve been tasked with protecting the weak and defenseless, which you now are.”

The dragon nodded and then stopped midway with a muttered, “Hey! I’m not pathetic!” while resuming his struggles against his captor, “I’ll have you know I’m one of the strongest dragons! And the oldest! My wings make all the lady dragons fly at the cycle!”

“That may be true, but right now you’re a skinny, and a bit sickly,” he added when he saw the dragon still hadn’t caught its breath from ranting at him, “So I guess I have to let you go,” Steve sighed, stepping back after releasing the smaller man and ignoring the tingles in his hands. He had been right; the dragon seemed to run hot even while in a human body and it had made his gauntlets warm to the touch.

“Oh gallant knight,” the dragon simpered, massaging his wrists with a grimace as he stepped from the wall back into Steve’s personal space, “I truly do owe you my life and I have to repay you in some manner.” He said while walking his fingertips up Steve’s chest. Steve was so distracted by the motion ( _where had his training gone?_ ) that he didn’t realize the dragon had asked him a question until the awkward silence was hovering between the two of them.

“Oh, um, yes?” Steve answered tentatively in response, hoping he hadn’t just agreed to have his horse turned into an appetizer.

It was worse.

Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat at the firm press of lips, refusing to open them when a tongue teasingly dragged over them. The dragon’s warm body plastered itself against his own, squeaking against the heavy metal pauldrons to leave streaks, and Steve couldn’t help but bring his hands up to clasp the smaller body tightly. It wouldn’t be polite or knight-like to allow the other to fall to the ground.

“Well,” Their lips separated with a wet smacking sound, Steve coughing to hide his discomfort, and he turned to locate his shield while ignoring the dragon who was now obscenely licking his lips. “Um, now that that’s done, I guess I’ll just go and come back when you’re a dragon again ruining the countryside and-“

“Ah ha! No, foolish human, there won’t be a next time! You’ve let me go and now-“ The dragon frowned, flexing his arms, “And now I can-“ The smaller man grunted and flexed again, sweat breaking out across his body before gasping in defeat. “That should have, I should have been big again, I mean, unless-“ He abruptly cut off and looked at Steve with an expression that was more filled with fear than when Steve was chasing him with a sword.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

Steve didn’t respond but he couldn’t stop his face from flushing bright red. He had, well, he had received favors from countless maidens and princesses, but he had never- would never unless- he had been hoping he would find _the one_ during his countless travels and maybe settle down. Start a farm. Stop hunting dragons; he eyed the still naked man who was now moaning into his hands.

“No. No! You idiot, I’m stuck like this now. I mean, I never thought I’d meet a virgin. Really? Are you sure?” The dragon raked its golden eyes up and down Steve’s body, which he felt like a hot caress. Maybe the dragon had some type of poison in its saliva and he was only having a reaction to it now? “I’d say you were lying but the proof is obviously in the pudding. I’m sure your little situation would help if you ever have to suddenly storm a castle of haughty unicorns, but that really puts a crimp in my plans to turn back into my beautiful scaled self and eat you.”

“Wait, what? You were going to eat-”

“I said, you made this mistake and now you’ve got to fix it. We have to go find my true love and get a kiss from them. Think of it as a quest or something noble if that helps you sleep at night, stupid brave knight.” The dragon grumbled and stomped over to the pile of metal and ignored the gaping knight, who had his hands limply hanging next to his body. “I swear, if you try to pull that knight stuff again about having to vanquish me I am going to-“ The rest was cut off as the dragon began digging through the scraps, sending a tower of rakes to the ground with a crash.

True love’s kiss?

Steve swallowed thickly and definitely did not follow the curve of the naked ass in front of him, which had started swaying as the dragon-no, man for now- dug deeper into the hoard. “Do you know who they are?”

“No. And since this is your fault you might as well start calling me Tony.” The dragon gave a small exclamation of joy and pulled out a lump of melted iron, “It’ll be easier to call me that then ‘you dragon’ or, what was it that other knight called me? Ah! Egg sucking belly dragger!” Then he shoved the metal and a pickax into a rucksack before turning and striding out of the cave and towards the morning light.

Steve followed the man docilely after collecting his sword and shield, watching him as he loaded what seemed to be knickknacks and jewelry into the saddlebags of Steve’s charger. The horse had its neck arched so it could snuffle at the olive-toned, bare skin that was, frankly, gleaming in the sunlight. “Clothes?” He weakly suggested, not sure why he sounded so reluctant.

The dragon-Tony-turned and placed his fists firmed on his still-unclad hips. “Is that a thing humans do?”

Steve was doomed.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL WRITE 20 CHAPTERS. AND ONE OF THEM WILL MOST DEFINITELY NOT BE ULTIMATES FAKE MARRIAGE. NOPE. NEVER.


	19. Neighbors & Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr [Prompt](http://wingheadshellhead.tumblr.com/post/158246587861/au-where-tony-despite-being-more-of-a-cat-person) about a cat person and dog person having pets that are best friends! (Thanks AnonEhouse for finding it for me! T_T)
> 
> Steve is a cat person (kinda).
> 
> Tony is a dog person (circumstantially).
> 
> Cloud and Octo are the best of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get back into this. I know I promised fake!relationship Ultimates, but angry cats and dogs are my jam.

(^・ω・^ )

“Oró, sé do bheatha abhaile, oró, sé do bheatha abhaile,” Steve breathily sang to himself as he pushed open the back door with his lower back. With some shuffling of the duffle bag and the other items in his hands, he was able to squeeze into the little landing to close the door. Making sure that the door was locked, and spinning so he wouldn’t trip down the steeper set of stairs to his right, Steve clomped up the shorter flight of stairs into the terrifyingly tiny, but beautifully remodeled, kitchen. Ignoring the way his shoulder brushed ever so slightly against the wall to his left when he turned, or the sharp smell of barely dried paint, he was still marveling at the fact that the townhouse was technically his.

That he, Steven G. Rogers, was officially the owner of this house and everything in it, which as of right now included some of his old furniture and ‘donated’ battered pots and pans from his mother, as well as the sad patch of grass in the backyard that would maybe, potentially, have tomatoes in the summer.

It hadn’t exactly been his dream to buy a home in Queens, or to be on the hook for an astronomical 30-year mortgage, but the planets had aligned over the past year. And by aligned, that really meant that the planets had smashed into each other and were then promptly sucked into a black hole. That would be one way to describe all four of Steve’s roommates suddenly deciding to move in with their significant others, and his mother deciding to sell the old house and retire upstate, leaving Steve by himself and on the hook for an apartment rental that was three-times higher than any mortgage payment in the area would be.

It was the right time in Steve’s life (single, healthy, and gainfully employed) to finally buckle down and put that wad of ‘rainy day’ savings to good use.

Of course, the mortgage payments had begun eight months ago while he was still paying for the apartment, and another loan had to be taken out for all the extra work the outdated home needed, but finally, _finally_ , Steve was able to enter the home of his dreams and be a ‘real’ adult.

Steve spun slowly, taking in the house without the company of contractors making noise or Natasha quoting rising interest rates, and felt his heart tighten in happiness. He could see himself becoming very comfortable with this house in the future. The whole lower floor of the home had been changed into a flowing open-concept area (the designer’s words, not Steve’s), so it was only a few steps to leave the tiled kitchen area and enter the dining room that had been turned into an art studio for Steve’s work, due to the perfect lighting from the huge bay windows at the front of the house.

Before he could begin to reexamine the reading nook and bookshelves that had replaced the original living room, or climb the stairs to confirm that it really was his bed in the master bedroom, an angry snort came from the pet carrier in his right hand.

“Oh, oh, baby, I didn’t mean to leave you in there,” he said soothingly, setting the carrier on the ground and kneeling on the hardwood floor to check on the mass of diluted calico fur. “I didn’t forget you, but it’s a new house. It’s very exciting,” Steve said, sitting back on his heels after opening the carrier’s door, “I think you’ll like it. You won’t have to worry about Lucky slobbering you and trying to be friends, or Jane accidentally using your cup for coffee.”

When the cat didn’t emerge, Steve bent over again and poked at the furry backend facing him. “Clo-ud,” he softly sang, turning the name into two syllables like his mother always did, “Wanna see the windows? Big windows for you to look at stuff. You love looking at stuff and being angry at the stuff you look at.” One of the gray ears plastered against the cat’s skull gave a little twitch at Steve’s teasing tone. “I even put your box next to the drafty vestibule door we couldn’t fix. I know you’ll love it if you just come out and see.”

The lump of fur gave a snorty grunt, which delighted Steve, before the cat shifted and settled in for a good, long, sulk. Steve chuckled under his breath as he stood, brushing at his knees absentmindedly as he walked over to the nearby recessed shelf. He knew this would happen. Cloud hated change, any type of change no matter how small, and moving to a new house was a fairly big change even for a person, much less a cat. No wonder she was crabby.

With the television and wifi not hooked up yet, and the cat food packed in a box in the kitchen, Steve had to resort to the last thing he knew that would get Cloud back to semi-tolerating him again: the beat up boombox and stack of cds on the shelf.

“Will Massenet calm you down? A little _La Cenerentola_? Or do you want to re-listen to _Aida_?” The silence of the house answered and Steve nodded as he thumbed through the jewel cases. “I’m thinking Rossini,” he muttered, “You’re always happier after Rossini”, he continued while popping open the cd player and placing in the first disc.

The house was immediately filled with light violin playing and woodwinds as the overture began.

Steve grinned and flopped back into the only new piece of furniture in the house, a cushy chair gifted to him by all four of his roommates (Bucky, Clint, Jane and Natasha), and relaxed in the pale winter sun as he stared at the cat carrier. When nothing happened during the first five minutes of orchestration, Steve felt his thoughts begin to wander.

He’d already met a good handful of the people in the neighborhood, ranging from the man who shared the driveway that ran between their homes (Sam Wilson) to the couple down the street with the extremely cute baby (Jessica and Luke). Across the street was the elusive Dr. Erskine who traveled 80% of the year to see relatives in Germany, so Steve even being able to shake his hand in greeting was quite a feat. Next to Erskine was Jess and Carol, who Steve didn’t know were roommates, or dating, or fiancées, depending on which of the two women he was talking to.

In fact, the only neighbor Steve hadn’t met was the one whose house abutted his and shared the wall of the two semi-detached houses.

Carol had laughed when Steve first asked about his ‘wall-neighbor’ a few months ago when she and Jess had taken Steve out for a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ lunch, even though Steve hadn’t officially moved in yet.

“Ah, that’s Tony. He’s mostly in the city with his boyfriend, Ty. You most likely won’t see him, they’re pretty serious.” She had waved her left hand vaguely in Steve’s direction, almost sticking her ring finger up Steve’s nose, “I think they’re tying the knot soon.”

“True.” Jess pulled her mass of dark hair over her shoulder while reaching for her glass of wine, “They got a dog around a year ago. You know that’s true love and definitely the step before moving in and making it official.” She took a sip. “Unlike a cat.”

Steve grinned at the memory, recalling how the conversation had dissolved into an argument between the two. After Carol had finished her squabble with Jess concerning how her cat, Chewy, was the best damn thing in the world, both women had been shocked when Steve had explained that even though he owned a cat, he wasn't really a cat person. The conversation had then dissolved into Steve explaining how he had adopted Cloud simply because of how miserable the cat had looked at the shelter, even though shelter volunteers had explained that she’d been returned twice already.

They were a fun pair and Steve really couldn’t wait for their ‘winter barbeque’ being held the upcoming weekend to chat with them more.

Movement in the corner of his eye made Steve turn to watch a thick, otter-like tail appear outside of the carrier to flick lazily back and forth in time with the music. A moment later and a rotund body shuffled its way backwards from the crate. At the poofed fur, and general disheveled appearance of the cat, Steve laughed, resulting in a pair of ice blue eyes turning to glare at him disdainfully.

“See? I knew you couldn’t stay angry at me with Cinderella playing,” he said, mind taken off the neighbor he would most likely never meet as Cloud began licking furiously at her fur.

(^・ω・^ )

It still hurt. Three months, and it still hurt.

Tony leaned back in his leather desk chair and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

He’d fallen out of love before, had been in relationships with better people, and yet Tony still couldn’t stop thinking about Tiberius. Wondering what he did wrong, what he else could have changed about himself to keep the other man in his life. Tony felt like he had given everything to him, hollowing out the space behind his ribcage, only to find out the truth: that Ty had been cheating on him for over half of the relationship with a mutual friend.

God, Tony had even bought a gift for Zeke when he’d last seen him last at the Christmas party, unknowing of Ty’s sneaking around or Zeke’s starring role in the sneaking.

His head felt too heavy; full with too many _Ty thoughts_ and not enough _Tony thoughts_. Tony eyed the folders, documents, and printouts on his desk before shuffling them into one sloppy pile that he could pillow himself on, bracketing his head with his arms to block out the morning sunlight and _feelings_. It was draining having to monitor his thoughts 24/7 while juggling his CEO and head of R &D duties. He should really think of switching titles with Pepper.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door of his office opened with a nearly silent snick followed by unhurried footsteps. They paused around halfway to the desk.

“I didn’t realize naps were back in vogue?”

Tony let out a miserable whine and rolled his chair back and forth with his hips as he burrowed his head deeper into his folded arms. “It’s not even noon and my head is killing me.” He grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut in case Pepper turned on the overhead lights.

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper sighed and walked the remainder of the distance, if the thump of folders on his desk was an indicator, and thin, cool, fingers began stroking his hair. “You’ve been having a pretty tough time, haven’t you?”

“Trade. Be CEO, let me be president of the company. You’ll get better benefits.”

“No.”

“Bigger pay raise.”

“Nu-uh.”

“My undying love.”

“I’m sure I have that already,” Pepper hummed and nudged at the crown of Tony’s head until he propped his chin on his arms, and then she spent a moment pushing back his bangs from his forehead to check his temperature. She frowned down at the pained expression of her boss and friend as she rubbed small circles on either side of his temples. “What’s wrong, Tony? You aren’t sick, but it’s only Monday and you have your Thursday afternoon face on.”

Tony scrunched up his face and opened his mouth to respond, something scathing and witty, only to be interrupted by the phone on his desk suddenly ringing. “Oh god, it’s probably Bambi with another meeting. Save me, Pepper,” he groaned, twitching his head away so he could re-bury it in his arms.

“Fine, fine.” Pepper’s one hand played with the short hairs at the nape of Tony’s neck as she reached across the desk to hit the speaker button. “This is Ms. Potts, may I ask who is speaking?”

“Oh, um, this is Stephanie?” Tony cringed at the sound of his dog walker; his day was about to get worse, “I’m at Mr. Stark’s apartment but Octo won’t leave? Is he available to talk?”

Tony sighed and pushed himself upright, leaning across his desk towards the phone cradle. “Hi, Stephanie, it’s Tony. Is he awake?”

“Yes.” Shuffling, jingling, and a soft bark came from the other end. “He was fine on Friday, but he’s just ignoring me today. Didn’t come to the door and he’s just sitting in the living room? It’s been around five minutes and he hasn’t budged, not even when I offered a treat.”

Rubbing his hands against his face for a second, Tony let out a frustrated sigh and dragged them down to stretch his features. Perfect. “It’s fine, Stephanie, you can leave him.” Pepper nodded when Tony looked over, confirming that Tony had at least fifteen minutes to run upstairs to the penthouse. “I’ll come up and check on him in a little bit and take him out later in the day. You can get going.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for your help over the past month. I’ll give you a call later. It might make sense that we stop for the week since I’m finally back.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark. Sorry it didn’t work out today. I hope you had fun on your trip?”

“Yeah, it’s good to be back, Stephanie,” Tony laughed wryly, ignoring the question on if it was a fun trip, “I’ll give you a call later in the week if Octo feels up to going out with the group again.”

“No problem. Bye, Mr. Stark! I hope Octo feels better!”

“Yup. Bye.” Tony hung up on his bubbly dog walker and promptly began knocking his head against the desk’s surface. “Why, why, why? I gave him everything he needs? He’s a dog. He’s supposed to go on walks.” He spared a glance at Pepper, “Right? Walks? He was fine this past month. He went on walks?”

“Octo did go on walks, yes, but I think he missed you while you were in California. I know I did.” Pepper smiled and started organizing the mess on the desk to keep her hands busy instead of pulling Tony into a hug, only propping her hip against the desk to face Tony after the folders were back in a neat pile.

“Maybe you should take some time off. You have enough to take off a couple weeks. Get back into the groove of the east coast? Maybe sleep off that jet lag you ignored this weekend?” At Tony’s exasperated look, Pepper plowed on.

“You just got back from a complete overhaul of the LA R&D department while also keeping investors entertained during the night for a little over a month. You’ve been traveling non-stop for the company for the past couple of months. Normally, I’d be fine with this, you’ve handled it before, but Tony...you’ve been a little...fragile since your breakup.”

Tony swallowed thickly and began picking at one of his cuticles. “I’ll be...It’s fine. I have Octo to keep me company. Don’t even miss dating,” Tony said, his fake smile cracking at Pepper’s no-nonsense expression. “And I think Octo likes me, so that's good?”

“Tony, that dog loves you, unqualified owner that you are,” Pepper said, “But I can’t deal with repairing the carpeting every time he rips it up when you leave. He needs to see you more than barely a weekend a month.”

“I mean, I’ll, I don’t know, see if I can get an in-house sitter or something to-”

“Tony. If you can’t take care of Octo, maybe you should-”

“No!” Tony blurted, “He’s mine! He’s all I have left of-” Tony stood abruptly, almost biting off his tongue to keep the words inside, breathing heavily from his nose as he turned to look out his floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’m going to keep Octo and take better care of him.” Tony finished, staring blankly at his reflection as he tried to compose himself.

The blanket of silence in the office suffocated Tony within seconds.

“Tony.” Pepper bridged the gap first, as she always did, approaching Tony from behind and continuing the thread of conversation. “You don’t have to keep Octo. Just because he was a gift from Ty-”

“I’m not keeping the dog because he was a gift.” Tony left his office, ignoring the questioning tone of Pepper’s voice that followed him out the door or Bambi’s wry, _‘I guess I’ll cancel all of Mr. Stark’s afternoon appointments?’_ as he stormed past her towards the elevator.

Tony stepped out of the elevator cab, which led directly into the penthouse entrance area, with a huff and then a loud curse when he almost tripped on the huge dog sprawled directly in front of the elevator doors.

“God, shit, wha-Octo! Why?” Tony asked, pulling off his tie and ignoring the shakiness of his hands, “You can’t keep doing that? I’m going to step on you one day!”

The Doberman skittered backwards on the slate flooring as it stood, tail nub wiggling back and forth, before dropping into a deep bow. When Tony ignored the dog, instead toeing off his shoes and muttering under his breath, the dog followed behind two paces until Tony flopped onto the couch. The dog whimpered, prancing on its feet, waiting for the slap of a hand on the cushion to signal that it could jump up.

“Oh, fine. Fine, come up,” Tony said, opening up his arm so the dog could slump into his side once it had settled next to Tony, resulting in a pile of limbs and fur halfway in his lap. “You’re such a mush, don’t know why you didn’t want to go out today with Stephanie. You know, I pay her good money to come up here to keep you entertained.” The dog shook its head in disagreement, tags jingling on the plain leather collar, “I do, I really do,” he continued, patting the dog on its head, toying with the cropped ears that he’d have argued against if given the choice.

He would have changed a lot of things if he was given a choice; a running theme in a relationship that had lasted a bit over four years.

Tony was idly examining the painting that he had always hated, sitting on the couch that had just appeared in the apartment one day, when his eyes started pricking with hot heat.

Damn.

“I didn’t mess up too badly, did I?” He asked, rubbing up and down the warm side of the dog while gazing at the ceiling that had been repainted to a color that made him think of curdled milk. “I mean, I got you? You’re a pretty big plus in the pro column,” Tony continued, examining the living room again to see if there was anything else Tony had contributed, besides money and a warm body. “Definitely think you were the only thing good to come out of that breakup…”

When he had bought the penthouse, mostly due to it being so close to the office and Ty complaining about how long it took for Tony to get into Manhattan, Tony had known he would be gutting the place. Removing the wall-to-wall cream carpeting, ripping out all the wiring, and making something that he wouldn’t mind coming back to each night. He’d always thought one of those see-through fireplaces would be a hoot to show Rhodey.

But Ty hadn’t liked any of Tony’s ideas and thus the apartment, where Tony had hoped he’d be able to hide away from work and relax, had turned into some sort of pseudo-modern art museum, with too much white and chrome and not enough soft blankets or scented candles.

Tony toyed with the dog tags near his fingers as he remembered back before he was a CEO and was instead just a grumpy Long Island kid who had been transplanted to Queens. Back when his father had first started the company out of the back shed and his mother had taught piano lessons to ‘keep out’ of Howard’s hair. When Jarvis, their next door neighbor who was a widowed empty-nester, would come over to make dinner and help Tony with his English homework.

Closing his eyes, Tony could clearly picture the dark-colored, reclaimed wood flooring overlain with thick rugs and smell the faint whiff of his mother’s perfume mixing with the rosemary from the kitchen. A time when Tony was just allowed to be Tony and he wasn't so tired all the time.

Of course he’d kept the house after his parents had died in the car accident, but he’d barely been there since the fledgling company had become his responsibility and subsequently taken over his life. He’d pop over if the bi-weekly housekeeper noted anything was broken or missing, but Ty had never liked going out to Queens. So Tony, who was too busy wining-and-dining what he had hoped was his future fiancé, had not been able to really go to house for more than a quick peek-in for almost a half year.

That’d have to change. Octo deserved to see where his dad had grown up.

“I think it might be time to go home,” he said, reaching into his pocket to make some calls as he slumped deeper into the cushions, “I’m sure Jarvis wouldn’t mind spoiling his only grand-dog.” Tony smiled and didn't feel too tired anymore.

(^・ω・^ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Not going to lie, this one is semi-planned out to potentially be a "real" story. XD


	20. Before and After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the Civil War, as coined by the press, Tony does what he's always done: picks up the pieces and tries to fix things.
> 
> Except now he's trying to fix things before a giant space war implodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the only Post-CW thing I will ever do. Had to struggle and get this out because my mind wouldn't let me write any other AUs until I at least fleshed out some of the ideas. I have a ton more ideas for this, but with all the new movies coming out...eh. They will rot in a Google doc forever until I stumble on them in a few years.
> 
> I like AUs more than dealing with MCU timelines. T_T

 

**\---A---**

 

Excerpt from UN Resolution: S/RES/2616 “Threats to international peace and security caused by enhanced individuals”):

  1. _For the purposes of these Accords, an "Enhanced Individual" (Enhanced) is defined as any person, human or otherwise, with superhuman capabilities. This includes individuals whose powers are an innate function of their biology as well as individuals who utilize highly advanced technology to grant themselves superhuman capabilities._
  2. _An individual who utilizes an advanced prosthesis that allows capabilities beyond those of ordinary humans is not considered an Enhanced according to 42 CFR 440.120.  However, individuals with advanced prostheses that do not follow the above definition will be classified as an Enhanced._
  3. _Non-Enhanced individuals who operate either within an operation that is primarily composed of Enhanced individuals, or as a supportive role to an operation that is primarily composed of Enhanced individuals, are held accountable to the same standards identified for Enhanced._



[...]

  1. _In the instance of an international conflict event, Enhanced must be given clearance by either a nation's government or the United Nations subcommittee before taking any action in that country, either on their own or as a part of an organization._
  2. _Clearance is permissible by the government agency or entity employing of the Enhanced in international incidents where a less than 24-hour response is identified.  The government agency will be held responsible for any damages incurred during the conflict including subsequent relief efforts._
  3. _In events of catastrophic conflicts, in which the world as whole is jeopardized and imminent danger is identified, individuals will be granted authorization to cross international boundaries and allowed to take action in that country as an individual or as part of an organization._
  4. _The creation of any and all artificial intelligence, consisting of a complex system that is able to function autonomously from human input, is forbidden._



 

**\---B---**

 

Click.  Snap.  Click.  Snap.

 

Tony toyed with the flip phone, opening and closing with his thumb in a continuous loop as he sprawled heavily on the couch in the workshop.  He hurt.  His chest was raw, spikes of pain tightening his jaw whenever he moved, and his hands were mincemeat from clawing at titanium alloy.  He felt groggy from all the drugs that had been pumped in him over the past few days, and yet, somehow, this stupid phone kept him awake.  Kept pushing him further and further away from sleep.

 

He could break it.

 

His hand tightened around the phone just to hear the small groan of cheap plastic protesting.  It’d be easy.  All it would take it one throw against the wall, and he would have no contact with Ste-Rogers.  Wouldn’t have to worry if he was being tracked or if he’d become weak and call in the middle of the night when it became too hard, and it would be so easy just to call the one contact on the device, how was he supposed to-

 

Tony tensed on the couch at the sound of something crashing to the floor

 

Intruders?  No.  No, FRIDAY hadn’t said anything when he entered.  He quickly craned his head back, clenching his teeth at the pain, and counted; one, two, three.  The bots were accounted for, plugged into their charging stations as if understanding Tony couldn’t play and be jostled around.  So they couldn’t have knocked over anything to make the noise.

 

“FRIDAY?  Scan the room,” Tony said, frowning when the green sensors lining the room didn’t flash on.  “FRIDAY?”  He grunted and pushed himself up, ready to go to the main console to manually do it, maybe see if FRIDAY had switched onto a different server, when a thump came from the back of the workshop again.  “FRIDAY, really need you to scan the room and confirm I’m the only one here.”

 

“Sir?”

 

His mouth went dry as a figure stepped into the light: Stealth Armor MK V.  Built smaller than the rest of his armors, barely reaching his waist, that armor was one of the last armors he made before the Sokovia Accords were dropped like a bomb into his life.  Made solely for drone reconnaissance, the armor had no pilot and thus was able to withstand a close-range RPG to the chest with minimal damage.  It had been designed solely to be operated via a remote control console.

 

Except Tony wasn’t operating the drone and it was slowly walking towards him as if under its own free will.

 

Shit.  It couldn’t be the Avengers.  Ste-Rogers.  Rogers wouldn’t have used his override to automate the armor, would he?  He wouldn’t send one of his own armors to kill him?  And Tony’s chest seized, because at this point in time he no longer knew the correct answer to that question.  

 

A pop of static and the speakers embedded in the walls came to life.  “Tony?”  The armor took a jerky step forward and then stopped, causing a hissed sigh of relief to escape from Tony.  There was his girl, always watching his back, albeit a little late.  “Tony, you’re back.”  A brief pause, “But you are injured.  You shouldn’t be here in the workshop.”

 

“God, Fri, took you long enough.”  He grinned at the mild scolding as he collapsed back into the couch, tension bleeding from him as he flapped his aching arm towards the armor.  “What happened here?  Did Dummy roll over the remote?  Send it off?”  The grin faded as the silence, which should have been filled with FRIDAY’s sarcastic response, crept ever on.

 

“Fri?”

 

The eye slits flickered between neon blue and dull tempered glass when the armor completed another jerky step, which in turn made the helmet flop in a jagged semi-circle that was eerily reminiscent of a person with a broken neck.

 

Something was very wrong.

 

Tony swallow clicked against the lump in his throat and he tried to remember that he shouldn't be afraid of the armor.  That the hand twitching as if preparing to fire, wouldn’t actually flip up, palm forward, to blow Tony’s head off.  Except all that did is remind him of another time when he didn’t think he’d be hurt, with blue eyes flashing in rage as a shield came down onto his chest and-

 

“Sir, something’s happened,” FRIDAY said, voice in stereo as it came from both the wall and the armor in front of him, “I didn’t think to inform you of this incident.”  The armor shuddered and halted halfway between a step.  “I thought it would be better for you to see it for yourself.”  FRIDAY continued, the armor crashing face first to the ground a punctuation to her statement.

 

Okay, so the whole incident could no longer be chalked up to a bad case of painkillers, Tony thought.  Just another bead on a ‘what else could go wrong?’-necklace, except Tony had already lost JARVIS, and he couldn’t lose FRIDAY so soon; he hurt.  He just wanted someone who was _his_ , who was there for him and wouldn’t _leave_.

 

“Fri?”

 

When the dust from the cracked concrete settled, and Tony could see that the armor wasn’t moving, he gingerly stood up.  The concrete was freezing on his thin-socked feet, but Tony knew the shiver wasn't due to the drop in temperature.  Maybe Rogers had taken over the drone, he thought with rising panic.  Hacked FRIDAY and used her overrides to control all the armors, Tony thought as he stared, wide-eyed, at the armor that was no longer moving.

 

“Fri, please answer me,” He asked again, taking a few more steps closer, “Let me know what happened?”

 

The armor didn’t remove in response to his question, but the external speakers of the armor crackled to life.  Every single hair on Tony’s body stood on end as soft static filled the room, originating from the armor.  Only from the armor.

 

“Sir...Tony.”  She sounded so quiet.  “Something happened.”

 

“Fri, why aren’t you in the servers?”  Tony asked, refusing to think of what may have happened while he was gone.  Of what had happened to JARVIS last time.  Of it happening again.  When he repeated the question, a small sound, almost like a sob, echoed from the downed armor’s speaker.

 

“I...I made a mistake.”

 

Oh no.

 

“FRIDAY?”  Tony asked, his stomach dropping to the floor when the armor attempted to wriggle in place and the speakers throughout the room stayed quiet.  This was bad, real bad.

 

“You were trapped, and I needed to get to you, and you were hurt.  Hurt real bad!”  FRIDAY blabbered, something she wasn’t programmed to ever do, and Tony swallowed against bile as she continued to speak, “-couldn’t get you.  I had to get to you!  You’re mine, all I have, and-” The speakers blared something that sounded like an old internet connection, “I should have asked, but I needed to do this.  For you.”

 

And Tony’s body became lead.

 

FRIDAY was in the armor.  FRIDAY made the decision to export herself to the armor.  FRIDAY-She-did it without Tony’s permission.  She could make her own choices now.  She-

 

“No, no, no.”  Tony muttered, stumbling back onto the couch and ignoring the _throb_ of his bones as he landed on the soft cushions.  This couldn’t be happening.  Not now, not while-God, the Accords.  The Accords that were in the process of being modified due to the Avengers mess.  The Accords that had so many edits and changes, but had one thing was included in every revision: The ‘no AI’-clause, sneered each meeting by Secretary Ross.  As if Tony would make an AI that could make its own choices.  He learned from his mistakes, but FRIDAY-

 

Tony shakily laughed and hid his face from the fluorescent lighting.  “It’s fine, Fri.”  He closed his eyes and felt his mind start spinning in its tracks, thinking _what to do? what to do? what to do?_  “I’ll fix this.”

 

**\---A---**

 

The door slid open, a gentle ‘snick’ as it entered the wall seamlessly, and Rhodes knew he had walked, figuratively, into a potential minefield.

 

Tony faced away, looking out the reinforced windows at the changing foliage, but he noticed how the other man flinched at his entrance.  How the Kevlar-encased shoulders twitched upwards when the wheelchair made a gentle thump transitioning from hardwood flooring to the carpet.  Rhodey had almost forgotten how the gentle hum of machinery heralded his entrance, which meant Tony had been stewing here, avoiding him.  That did explain the odd look Tony’s secretary had given him when he’d approached the Director’s Office a few hours ago.  Tony had probably already been long gone.

 

Rhodey stopped a few paces from his friend and wondered when it all went to shit.  Unaware, or maybe too aware, that Tony was probably thinking the same thing.  He hated this.  Hated the position he had been forced into.  Dreaded asking what he needed to ask.

 

“Tony.  You know what I need.  I’m sure you have someone on my staff who was able to find out, and you know I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t being backed into a corner,” Rhodey said, swallowing when Tony refused to turn and look at him and instead chose to take a sip from the glass in his hand, “And I’m not saying that you wouldn’t be able to do this, but with how Ellis used SHIELD…”  He stopped to turn his gaze down into his lap, afraid of uttering the next phrase that had always worked on Tony.  Afraid that Tony would finally refuse.  

 

“I need your help.”

 

A moment passed and Rhodey swallowed against the hard lump in his throat at Tony’s silence.  Maybe things had become too frayed, too fragile, following the past year of hell.  Maybe Tony had finally realized that Rhodey wasn’t- “And I know I haven’t been a good friend, that-”

 

“No.”

 

Rhodey snapped his head up, hands digging into his braced and useless legs for purchase.  “I-Tony, Tones, I can-”

 

Tony sighed and turned away from the window, leaning against it to stare at him with moist eyes.  “You’ve been the best friend.  At least, you’ve done the best you could with the shit show we’re in now.”  He seemed to crumple against the glass, a motion that worried Rhodey; automatically flipping the switch in his head that changed all his priorities into getting a sandwich and hot chocolate into Tony within the next fifteen-minutes.

 

“I just don’t think I can do this,” Tony continued, hand rubbing at the right side of his face.  “I want to do it, but Rhodey, graham cracker, you know what this’ll mean.”  He pulled at his shirt collar, a nervous gesture that had originated while he had practiced his first thesis defense so long ago, and Rhodey swore he could see the shimmer of the Iron Man undersuit, but when he looked closer the shirt had been re-buttoned by Tony’s fidgeting hand.  “I’ll be in the public eye again.  You know what they’ll say about me suddenly stepping into that position?  Especially with you by my side, rooting for me?  Favoritism at its worse.”

 

Rhodey snorted and shifted in his chair, “Tones.  You know Ross had it coming.  I can’t officially announce that, but everyone knows.  Hell, even FOX news knows.  And now we’re without a Secretary of State.  And everyone is going to be asking for you.  They don’t know about SHIELD, they...  I don’t want to ask you to take on this position, especially one that potentially puts you in direct contact with...them.”

 

Tony crossed the distance between them, placing his empty glass on a side table before he dropped onto the couch perpendicular to Rhodey’s wheelchair.  “It’s not that.  We were fine fighting together with Thanos, it’s just…”

 

“I can protect you.  You and Friday.”  At his words, Tony sunk into the couch and his eyes slid closed.  His strings had been cut and the tension seemed to bleed out of him in one huge wave.  

 

“The Accords are already being revised to become something more realistic to be enforced,” Rhodey said, unable to swallow the pride in his voice as he continued, “I know you can magic up a turn of phrase that’ll make it so that she’ll be protected.”  James leaned forward in his chair, hand reaching out to grip Tony’s thigh tightly and giving it a slight shake.  “I’m giving you the opportunity to make it easier.  Make sure that nobody like Ross comes to power again.  So we’ll be better prepared in the future.”

 

Silence filled the room once again and Rhodes waited.  Knew that Tony would follow him to the ends of the Earth, just as he had did for him during the last crisis, and this was just one more journey for them to complete together.  It was always better when they were together.

 

Rhodey tensed when he saw Tony’s teeth grinding under the skin of his jaw, but then Tony exhaled shakily.  “Fine.  I’ll do it,” he said, hand grasping the back of Rhodey’s, which was still tight around his thigh.  “But you need to give me at least a week or two.  I have a doctor’s appointment coming up that I can’t miss.  You know how much of a pain it is to reschedule those.”

 

Rhodey leaned back with a gusty sigh combined with a laugh, “Of course,” he said, “Just as long as you’re there.  You know you’re always my first choice.”  Finally.  One thing off his plate that he actually decided without his cabinet trying to control his every move.  Now he could start tackling the eight hundred other things required in his position.  With Tony at his side, though, Rhodey could already feel the tension headache that had present for the last few months receding.

 

“You know I couldn’t do this without you.”

 

Tony smiled, a tired thing that creased the lines near his eyes, but Rhodey saw the glimmer of love and affection poorly lurking in the back of the expression.  A constant after all these years that had started in MIT when Tony had puked on Rhodey’s shoes.

 

“Will that be all, Mr. President?”

 

Rhodes grinned and could feel his chest tighten in emotion at everything Tony had ever done for him.  Now it was his time to try and protect him.  To make up for the shoddy job he had performed during Thanos’s invasion.

 

“That will be all, Mr. Secretary.”

 

**\---B---**

 

When Tony received an encrypted message that cleared his upcoming Thursday with only a location in the notes, he thought he knew who it would be.  Imagined it would be Ste-Rogers.  Rogers and the others who had left.  Who had decided they had made the best decision for the world as a whole when it came to the incarceration and management of the Winter Soldier threat.  Judge, jury, and executioners, but not responsible for the fallout afterwards.

 

With the looming threat of _something_ coming, and the whole of the UN ready to crucify someone for the cause, Tony was looking for any type of reconciliation that would keep the team together.  Or at least get them all in one place while keeping them from ripping out each other’s throats.  Even if it wasn’t Rogers, maybe it was T’Challa finally coming to his senses of how hiding world-wide criminals was probably not keeping his country as secret as he’d wanted.  Or perhaps Thor had finally returned from who knows where?

 

Tony was not expecting the twice-deceased Nicholas Joseph Fury to stride from the shadows.  He also wasn’t expecting the man to hand over SHIELD, commanding Tony to watch over the agency since it seemed Captain America had gone rogue and Fury needed to contain the damage.  Though filled with relief at someone, finally, changing their mind to agree with Tony on the accountability of the Avengers, he still waffled.

 

He didn’t want to be in the spotlight, even if it was the shadowed spotlight of the Director of SHIELD.  He just wanted to prepare for the upcoming war (because it was going to be a war, not just a battle).  Batten down the hatches.  Find Bruce.  Protect the tattered remains of his family.

 

The final nail in the coffin though was Fury’s concerns of SHIELD being used as the personal black-ops of President Matthew Ellis.  A surprisingly valid threat with the upcoming election year shaking things up.  It would be a pity if former Colonel James Rupert Rhodes, hailed as a black FDR in these troubling times, wasn’t able to run for office due to an impromptu accident.

 

Fury stared at Tony balefully.  “You can’t protect him forever.”

 

Tony grit his teeth and the following day he stepped into the skin tight uniform at 0500 to report for his assigned duty.  The glares of some of the agents when he landed on the newly built Helicarrier made Tony glad for the heavy holsters strapped to his shoulders and thigh.  For a moment he thought of the flip phone sitting heavy in his breast pocket, only to dismiss the object when Hill came up to him with the daily docket of activities.

 

The one thing Tony had to give to Fury, even though he had thrown a wrench in his life by appointing him Interim Director, was that Tony no longer had the extra time to think about Siberia.

 

Thoughts of the delicate frost patterns that had swirled across the surface of his mangled suit no longer plagued him.  How the twirling ice crystals had stopped two, then one, inch from his face as his exhaled breath continued to cool.  How the hair on his head had frozen and the bristles of his goatee dripped cold, cold, _cold,_ water into his mouth as he struggled to inhale.  Tony was able to ignore all of this as he met up with the different division heads, drinking coffee that had gone stale and cold in-between his day-long meetings.

 

When he poured through the newly unredacted documents, Tony didn’t have time to dwell on the phantom pain of his man-made sternum splintering or remember the loud snap of grafted bone failing under point-stress.  The only pain he had now, besides the migraines that were most likely due to the small, printed, text he was constantly reading, was if he stretched the wrong way and pulled at the still-healing skin of his chest.  That pain was sharp, so different from the annoying ache in his left arm, and reminded him that the ARC reactor was back and anchored into a newly rebuilt chest.

 

Listening to the static of too many people speaking at once through his clipped-on communicator helped Tony forget the sound of FRIDAY from that day.  How her responses quickly devolved from a quirkily said _‘bossman, it’s no time to be napping’_ to a firm _‘sir’_ to a desperate _‘Tony, please, you have to-’_ to, once or twice, a screamed ‘ _daddy, no, you have to come home!_ ’

 

Sometimes Tony would sit in his Director’s chair, behind the huge desk covered in tablets and paperwork, and turn up the volume of the headset.  Drown out the jumbled thoughts and memories as he stared blankly into the distance; knowing he was doing this to protect the tattered remains of a family that once was all he had. Ignoring the phone cradle on his desk that was blinking with numerous missed or transferred calls, forwarded from his new secretary.

 

If Tony did remember Siberia, usually in the dull moments of a high-speed elevator ride, or while being yelled at by a member of the WSC, the old adage- _‘Proof that Tony Stark has a heart’_ would spring into his thoughts along the memory of flinty, blue eyes, bared teeth, and the cut of cold metal in his chest-

 

-and he’d laugh, and laugh, and laugh until he need to bite into his cheek muscle to stop his chuckles-

 

-and then it suddenly became easier to wear the under armor beneath his uniform.  Throw on a bulky bulletproof vest when he left his office.  Ignore the pain in his left arm when handed status reports.  Concentrate on strengthening SHIELD as a US power.  Actively recruit only the best and brightest before they were sucked in by the Army.  Push SHIELD into the current century by opening new way stations throughout the continent.  Convert the upstate training center into the SHIELD Northeast HUB of Operations.

 

Because Tony was nothing if a futurist, and if _‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice-’_ , had ever taught Tony anything, it was to make sure that second event never happened.

 

**\---A---**

 

The steam from the shower had fogged the mirror, but a swipe of his hand was enough for Tony to at least see the blurry outline of his goatee and dark hair.

 

“It’s just you and me now,” he said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the reflective surface, savoring the cool feel of glass on his aching, tight, skin, “And only one of us is walking away from this.”

 

He leaned back and his hand lifted, fingers in the shape of a gun, and pressed it against his right temple.  Dug the two pointed fingers into the area that had been scanned, poked and prodded by multiple specialists over the last three months.  Finally knew the reason why all those migraines kept cropping up, more and more intense each incident, and it could no longer be attributed to the battle with Thanos.

 

Though the tumor, lump, _thing_ , was only the size of a golf ball, a nervous scientist had informed the Interim Director that it would keep increasing in size. That it would eventually press against the shell of his skull, slowly crushing, and then suffocating, his brain. If Tony was able to get another year, he’d be lucky.

 

He breathed slowly through his bared teeth.  

 

Rumpled sheets after a night with Maya flashed through his mind. Scans of Killian’s body, and the other failed test soldiers, taken only hours after post-implosion: he could find them, especially with SHIELD’s databases at his disposal. Digital copies of Pepper’s body were in storage; areas highlighted a bright red where her body had slowly started cooking the surrounding tissue.

 

Granted, he had less time, but it could work if he could modify what he had on-hand.

 

The Centipede serum research that was buried in his first load of un-redacted SHIELD files proved that Extremis could be stabilized, albeit by combining it with numerous other limiting agents.  If Tony could just get a valid sample, one not associated with Pepper or SHIELD-affected agents, and develop a new language to talk to the nanotechnology to be injected.  Maybe a direct-contact method of feedback by utilizing the old Iron Man armor receivers still embedded in his body...

 

Tony’s thumb twitched and imaginary brain matter splattered on the mirror to cover his glaring reflection.

 

He would fix this.

 

“Boom.”

 

Time to get to work.

 

**\---A---**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end of this part of the series. A new part of the series will be created for new AUs. Please let me know what chapter(s) you liked best in a comments and I will continue the top three (3) works! I will also be counting any favorable comments that have been left previously (so don’t be scared that an older story might be ignored!). 
> 
> Seriously. Top 3 choices get to become a stand alone story! <3


End file.
